Week 4

Weekly tunes week 4. Ready, go!

Sunday Afternoon: Me and My Mother on Pinterest

This is what we find on days like these. . .



This is true punishment. . . x.x








And the best for last! These are topics to NOT write about for some creative writing class somewhere else. I thought you would enjoy what the teacher there decided was inappropriate content for children's books.

Sounds and Silence

He fell and he hit the ground.
Never even made a sound
Never even made a sound

Is this really happening to us now?
I believe it is, just please forgive me
don't forget me

Is this really happening to us now?
I believe it is, just please forgive me
don't forget me

Is this really happening to us now?
I believe it is, just please forgive me
don't forget me

Sounds to Silence
leave me in question and doubt
what now, oh what now?

Is this really happening to us now?
I believe it is, just please forgive me
don't forget me

Our Little Grand Adventure

This is how to have a Grand Slam!!! of a Grand Adventure:

• Grab a friend, probably a bestie, or someone who doesn't mind dirt
• Get a backpack. It is the most convenient way to carry stuff
• Fill up half the pack with snacks. And Snack Packs. You will want some pudding to nom on
• Wear whatever the fetch you want. This is your adventure. Close toed shoes work best though
• Sunglasses and hats. Look stylish or pimpin'! Whatever the fetch. Just don't go blind if there is sunlight
• Have silly, crazy, random fun!

Just in case you ever needed a good movie reference! 

Minus the sunglasses. . . and Snack Packs.

A Change of Pace.

First: Ama stories are done on this blog. If you like them, I'll link them to another blog that I'll make solely for the purpose of reading those stories. I might take down the ones already on here, but that is to be determined later (Maybe never >.> ). It'll continue like normal, and probably be heavily affected by weekly prompts since they offer a good direction to go, but now it can be even more indie and stuff if I'd like.

Second: I like pictures, you like pictures, I don't use many pictures, you'd probably want more pictures. Conclusion: More pictures. I even want to upload some of my own personal goodness.

Third: Weekly Tunes and Grand Slams. The music is failing, so I'm just gonna keep doing it alone, but will still keep something up in case you decide to say anything (which Nelson failed at when he gave me fantastic advice -.- ). If you get a Grand Slam!! or better, let me know so I can put it in my little hall of fame in the top left corner; It is actually really hard to go back on every comment I posted everywhere else to see where you got one.

Thanks

. . . Picture!

Fission and Chasms and the Bursting Seams. (2/2)

Here is the point of the picture-and-definition post. Call it bullshit, or believe it. I don't care. I'm ready to shut down. I'm not shutting down on myself. I'm shutting you down, taking you out. I'm losing it from all this insincerity and avarice and self-centered heartlessness. Melt down. Shatter. RUN!

I will run rampant ultimately. Maybe it can be avoided, but I can do so little to change it. I will call it to light, but that's about all I can do. I just want to say you might consider watching what you say, what you do, how you act. It's not someone specific. It's all too many people, too many things, too many ways I cannot counter, this invasion into my peace.

Let the chain reaction begin. This fission is happening within. It haunts and hurts and burns and breaks and destroys and contorts and twists and ties and annihilates what I love. All that I know, all that I am, and all I ever want to be is being thrown off course because I've had enough. I want to unleash it. I've held it all in for a decade. I've bit my tongue so much, it looks more like chewed hamburger, and this white tee shirt is so blood stained, it looks more black than red, soaked and sticking to my skin.

The hatred I suppress carves my flesh with demonic words. Each time something happens, my flesh tears open, and the good blood sprays out into infinity space, and malice pumps through my veins. Do you have any idea what kind of pain agonizes me to be the better man? The bittersweet thoughts to give up on being a good kid, Peter Priesthood, Mr. Goody-two-shoes, and indulging in wrath and violence. Something to expel this hatred.

Why do I bring this here? No one believes, so maybe one of you will take me seriously, because I've had enough people disregarding this. I've had enough. I'm breaking apart, from the inside out. It's just built and built and built and built and built! And now it's about to break. So much pressure, that the cracks shatter like the most fragile pieces of glass and ice, and just as cold and sharp as the shards that flay flesh from bone, and heart and soul.

Why do you insist on hurting others? Why do you just break others down, even if it has nothing for you to gain? Why must I feel like the target, or the enemy? Love. Just love. Or you will hate like me. I wish I had more love, but I have given so much and have had nothing in return. I wish I could share it, but what little I hold, it holds me right back. Holds me together. It's how I stay connected.

Disconnect if you love me. Separate if you care for me. Come closer and closer if you hate me, because when this all breaks from the rips and bursts of pain and hatred within, I hope those I love and care for are long gone, and the wretched tormentors are incinerated in my soul fire, and we know my soul is going to Hell, so it's really just Hell fire spewing out of my ashen skin and loveless eyes. And if you care for me and stick around, don't forgive me for the burns, because my blind loathing for this corrupting world will blot you out, and I may never know you're there.

Bursting, breaking, rupturing, cracking, fission of light matter, bonding of darkness. Chasms carved into my skin that glow with evil, and burn like hell, agony from what the small things built into, the unforgiving freedom of what really resides inside. I just hope I can hold it in long enough that I can run away before it's too late for everyone else. . .













Don't give up on me. 

Weekly Tunes (week 3)

Post what you want me to hear, or what you want to hear. I don't care. Any feedback, because you otherwise all suck at this. Is it that hard to understand? Like, really. I ask for you to suggest anything, so just say some damn name of a song and we can move on, okay? Okay. Updates on Tuesday.

Weekly Tunes (week 2)

What do you want this week? Leave a comment. Anything you want.

The Vestibule of Vestiges (Pt. II)

A warm blanket wrapped around me. The fireplace in front of me. The night sky finally descended upon the outside world. I'm numb. I'm cold. I'm wet. I'm confused. I remember stepping forward. . . and sitting here. Something happened. Dark blue and streams of light from the sleepy sun refracted across the water's skin illuminated the realm where third dimensional maneuvering was completely possible. And I began to drown. I remember now. I had somehow fallen into the canal. And I couldn't move. Everything was becoming dark. But there was a splash. Someone called my name, and there was a splash.

I look to my left, and there sits the elf. He is sitting on the chair next to mine, glancing between me and the flames that illuminate the inn's parlor. I turn around and stare at a wall, watching the shadows and streaks of firelight writhe and slither and dance across the surfaces. What is happening?

I shift slightly, and the blanket slips off my left shoulder, exposing my arm and nearly revealing my chest. I realize that I'm naked, but I know why. I pull the blanket up, tightly hugging my otherwise uncovered body. My clothes are hanging up somewhere, drying, and I'm here trying to get warm as fast as possible. Why Wrael is here still remains a mystery to me. What was happening?

I look over to him, and he stares right back into my eyes. I say nothing, but we both know what I am asking. "I'm just making sure you stay safe for now," he answered. The simplicity of the answer agitated me. Why should he really care if I'm safe. We've only met a few times, and for brief moments. The idea of being someones burden, especially a stranger's problem, isn't something that appeals to me. While I could use this to some small advantages, I prefer the option of self-sustaining dignity!

Furthermore. . . "How did I get naked?" I inquire tersely. He turns his gaze to me, his eyes locking onto mine. "You got naked when your clothes were removed," his expression saying nothing to me.
"Smart ass. Who removed it, then?"
"Would it upset you if I said 'I did'?"
"Not really, no."
"Then why should it matter?"
Creep. . . but then I guess it was necessary. And I don't imagine he really cares all that much. I suppose that it would be in both of our interests that I be stripped out of my wet and freezing vesture, than to fall ill to the cold.

I sit back in my chair, once again staring into the fire. I begin to nod off. I don't want to fall asleep here though. I nod off several times. Each time, I look at the clock above the fireplace. I look at my companion beside me, and then at the clock. Two-fifty five exact. My head bobs, and my eyes shut, but I lift my head, and my eyes shoot open. The fire is gone. The sky is red and purple and dark, it's eeriness intensified since last I was here. The clouds in the sky almost seem to make faces that stare at me, wide eyed and jaws drooping open. The vestibule stands before me.

I look around me. Wrael is asleep. He lies on the ground next to me, perfectly still. His chest doesn't move. I arise, the blanket falling around my feet. I lay my head on his chest, and hear a heart beat. I push him to wake up, but he remains still. I wander through the hall once again. I reach the end, to the same door. Once more, as I turn around, I am boxed in. But when I turn to the door, a brass key hangs on a peg in the wooden surface. It doesn't fit this lock. I open the door to the beginning, with my new key clutched tightly in my hand.

Once more, I venture through the halls. There are no locks until the end again. I don't have my pick to awaken myself. I start over. I search through my blanket on the floor, hoping to find something. There is nothing here for me. I go to Wrael, and shake him. First it's gently, but I gradually rock him harder and harder, until I am pounding on his chest with a loud thud thud thud. I kneel beside him, hanging my head. I look at his hand. It is clenched into a fist. I open it, but it is empty. His other fist is clenched too. I open it.

A crumpled piece of paper is in his hand. I unfold it carefully to find a picture of a lock, and a circle drawn around it. I look at the key in my hand and the paper in the other. The wind in the sky shifts, and blows down on me, swiftly picking up strength. I run into the hall, as the blanket and Wrael are blown away with the wind. I follow the path through the hall again. The torches dim and the doors creak as I pass each one, carefully observing me as I observe each handle.

 I find multiple door handles that are round, and put the parchment up to each one to see if the circle fits it. The archaic words through the hall seem to be written mockeries for me. My eyes are sore and tired. The disturbed air tickles my naked flesh. I am reaching the end.

A door on the left side of the hall stands patiently awaiting his turn to see if he is the match to the penned lock and brass key I possess. It matches, and I pull away the paper to see if it magically inscribed itself on the handle. There is nothing. "I can't just stick a key through paper, and expect it to work. . . or can I?" I place the paper against the handle and move away. It stays on its own. I move the key to it, and it goes through. I pull out, and move my head to see if the hole is there now.

The picture remains a picture; there are no holes in it, and it appears the same as before. I stick the key into the drawing, and it sinks into the fabric of the paper. The wind is stronger outside, and it screams and wails for me to fail and walk out to be swept away myself. I twist the key. The lock sounds, and the door opens slightly, dust floating out into the air. The wind ceases. I push the door open.

The still, rotted, cold air chills me to the bone. I see my breath like fog in the air. I walk through the gray room. A beat can be heard. Thump, thump, thump, thump. . . At the end of the square room is a chest. As I approach, the thumping gets louder, and I hear a heart beating in it. I open the chest, and a light glows out of it. I reach in and pull out. . . light? No. A strange sensation engulfs me like a flame burning in my chest. Red garments wrap around my body. What is this?

It is soft, but firm and solid. The thing holds no shape, and I can't even make out anything from the intense light it radiates. It makes me feel something. A sign above the chest reads: Vestige of the Heart. The thumping gets louder. I feel a presence standing behind me as the light intensifies, along with the beating. No one is here. The paranoia doesn't go away, but I feel safe enough.

I try to make sense of this, but I can't place my finger on it. The light is blazing brighter. The beat is so very loud. I think, and read the sign again. Vestige. . . and it makes sense. Something gone from me. Tears roll down my face, and the light is blinding, but I don't close my eyes. I am deafened by the rhythm of my own heart. I don't care. The tears stream as I silently cry, with a smile spread across my face, joyous and lament...

I am in the chair next to Wrael. He is asleep. I see the clock above the fire. Three o' clock exact. I stand with the blanket around me, the red garments gone. The key is gone, the paper gone, the beating gone, and the only light is the fire. I walk to Wrael, and kiss him on the forehead. "Thank you. Thank you for saving me," and I return to my room alone.

Alone.

Fission and Chasms and the Bursting Seams. (1/2)

Fission: The act of dividing or splitting something into two or more parts.

Chasm: A deep fissure in earth, rock, or another surface.

Burst: Break suddenly and violently apart, spilling the contents, typically as a result of an impact or internal pressure.

Something new? QUOTES AND PICS!!!

The Vestibule of Vestiges

If not knowing where I am is bad, not knowing who I am, or what I was, is worse. I find myself in the hall of recollections, at the entrance of vestiges of memories from days past. The dream I had, killing seven men, had left me wondering if I was here beyond reasons of me dying. Perhaps this is where we all go when we die, and for some reason I am the only one who realizes it, or tries to be open about the fact that we are all dead. Are we all dead?

These strange and pointless thoughts circle my head. I feel there was some deeper meaning to that particular dream, but by the same point in that theory, then everything has a deeper meaning. And if everything has a deeper meaning, how deep is it really? A pointless loop in my head goes round and round and round. Nothing is making sense.

I stand at the entrance of somethings gone or forgotten. A dim place, but it feels so bright. Clarity lights the candles, and their somber glow invites me down the corridors of this mansion of things bereft. Myriad doors labeled in some illegible and archaic words and marks plasters each door. As I pass each door, I feel their eyes watching me, but when I turn back, it's just a door. The thought of being watched tickles my paranoia.

I wander further through this place, and ultimately arrive at a door in front of me. I turn around, but everything is gone; walls on either side of me, and one that keeps me from returning, boxing me in. I turn back, and open the door. Blinding light blasts my eyes. I shield my eyes, squinting as I push the door open and step forward. I step out, but I have returned to the vestibule. I look around confused, and head back down the path I just ventured.

I retrace my steps perfectly, but with greater haste. I arrive at the door again, and again I am boxed in with only this door. I open it to only be blinded again, and return to the beginning. A third time I try this, sprinting. No change. A fourth, and a fifth, and a sixth time I try. I must be insane to try this over and over again only to hope for something new. No change.

What is this place? I arrive at the beginning, and look around more carefully. A sign near the hallway catches my eye. This too is covered in the archaic runes of nonsense. It is covered in dust, and as I wipe away dust with my palm, I notice the letters rearrange under my hand. I rub more vigorously. The answer to my question lies in front of me:

The Vestibule of Vestiges

I was just thinking of these words separately. I look behind me, towards the outside, and I see a sky colored with a purple and orange sunset, and red fields of weeds that stretches forever. No place like this exists. I am in my mind. Somehow, I am physically in my mind. This place feels all too much like a dream, or rather a nightmare, that contains no horror except for the lost feeling of being in an unknown place where there is no escape. 

I walk down the hallway again, but this time I try each door. All of them are locked, but none of them have a lock to be opened. I look at my hands, which are gloved in the armor I once wore in my previous world. If they are here, then I must have my lock pick. I reach in the inside of my left hand to pull out the tool. I try to open each door, and carefully search for a lock on each door. When I finally reach the end, I see the last and mysterious door is the only one with a lock.

"But I won't need these. . . it is already unlocked," and to be sure, I try the handle. It turns, but I don't open it. "But what would happen if I unlock what is already unlocked?" I insert the pick, and with perfect practice, I unlock the door with an audible click. I look at the door puzzled, because that ordinarily shouldn't work. I open the door, and once again, I am blinded. I step out into the light. . .

. . . And open my eyes to be back in that park on the stone bench I sat at once earlier this week. I look around so confused, and notice the sun is setting again, but I notice that the sunset isn't the same one that enthralled me before. It seems so plain. Not sadness, no storm, no misery, no joy, no peace, nothing. I shudder. What is going on? I stand up, and dizziness stuns me. I need to return to the inn.

I stagger back towards the inn, slowly. I cannot shake this feeling in my head, and the sun is setting faster, and the night's blackness begins to consume everything, shadows cast from the set sun and risen moon. My eyes won't adjust to this night, and I curse them for betraying me. This dizzy sensation intensifies the closer I get to home. I stumble onto the bridge between districts; almost home. 

Whatever is happening is becoming severely worse. What's happening? The strange place in my mind, the Vestibule, holds me prisoner for what felt like eternity, and now I'm feeling so sick. I'm halfway across the bridge as I trip and fall on my hands and knees. I stand up to see a pair of amber eyes glowing at me. I step forward a bit, squinting and trying to see who is staring at me. 

Dark skinned face, deep blue hair, and amber eyes. "Wrael!" I call out weakly. I step forward as he runs towards me. Suddenly, the world blurs and tilts on it's side. I hear a splash, and cold water consumes me, and his eyes shine through the water, distorted by the ripples, as bubbles rise out of my mouth and the world gets darker and darker as I sink deeper in the canal. My eyes close as a voice calls out my name, and splash sounds on the water. 

What's happening? What's happening. . .

I'll Make This Quick.

New Ama stories coming. And I'm gonna try to rapid fire them. Buckle up peeps!!! Also, read them all first. Get a good idea of what it's about. I can publish a list that goes in order.

Second: Grand Slams.
There are multiple levels of these. These are the ultimate compliments from me, but they have an inner level of what they mean. They are all better than good and great and perfect, but they mean something else between themselves. Grand slam > perfect. Kay?
Grand slam. = good
Grand slam! = great
Grand Slam. = amazing (The most common and sincere compliment.)
Grand Slam! = fantastic (This ties with Grand Slam. very often. These two are used interchangeably a lot)
Grand Slam!! = So Dang GOOD!!! (Only one of these has been given so far.)
Grand Slam!!! = No words may describe this. (Not yet achieved. Get working peeps!)
GRAND SLAM. = Perfection in perfection. While no one likes caps, this is the one time you will like it. Since only one GS with two '!!'s have been given out thus far, we are far from here, but if you play nicely with me, I'll boost ya a bit and give you the Ultimate compliment. And yes, there are '!'s on the all-caps-GS, but that is just gravy on your potatoes.

Also, get your input on my The Weekly Tunes. It doesn't matter what it is. Share it with anyone passing by.
Thanks a ton! Y'all are Grand!
-Shawn