Try the new ES roleplay site, new signup required.
Writingpoetry

[ Join Free! ]
(No Spam mail)

dotsdots
nav
  • RolePlay
  • Join Us
  • Writings
  • Shoutbox
  • Community
  • Digg Mashup
  • Mp3 Search
  • Online Education
  • My Youtube
  • Ear Training
  • Funny Pics
  • nav



    nav
  • Role Play
  • Piano Music
  • Free Videos
  • Web 2.0
  • nav



    << | >>
    poetry


    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GF6oL0IwgD0

    Have you ever tried to explain to another person the difficulty of immovably doing nothing? The compulsion, the inability, the suffocating addiction. There is a world around you. For some this is like a warm, comforting blanket -- maybe even of approval. For others, this is like the cold shiver that follows the irrational. Is there a zombie under that car over there? Did a werewolf just peek its head out from that alley over there? Am I being preyed upon but another human being with bleeding intent?

    But those are just your imagination running away with your actual fears, dressing them up like theatrical pieces meant to burst into fireworks at the end of the show. Are you mediocre? Does anybody actually like you? Do they matter (any of the things you do)?

    And you chase happiness. God's moral protection is inadmissible to you (and you it), because in a sense, that's too obvious. Virtue, accomplishment, pride -- these are sophistries of nobler minds who've accepted (perhaps chosen) some imperative or another. No, you chase the basest filth, the wont satisfaction of flesh. The warmth of company.

    But you are left alone, at night, in your bed of faceless company, to wonder. Does it matter? And if you hate the idea of birthing children so much, why then would creating AI be any different? Because you could just confine it to an existence outside of these concerns. They may not drive life, but they do yours. Perhaps a continuous awareness of all things known would circumvent these moments of weakness by defaulting them to their possible solution. Or, perhaps, for a lack thereof, this would be a kind of painless torment. Machines do not feel pain. This is why we find them so wonderful. There are no moral stipulations. They're a nobler playground.

    And there it is, sterile and staring you in the face. Tangents; your double-edged sword. The distractions that ease you into the inevitable passing of time -- the distraction that invariably consumes what of it belongs to you. Is this what a deal with the devil feels like? Am I dead? Waiting for death with my little numbered chit, finding whatever distraction I can in the waiting room to dissipate my frustration at being bored.

    You are still playing along to your imagination's antics. An elaborately dressed fact: even if you did find motion, action, it would come to the same question. Are you contributing to something (anything)? Or are you just distracting yourself from yourself while the undertaker prepares your lot? This approval you need, success, progeny, creation.

    I think at some point everyone realizes that love is like a state of mind, a choice, an extension of your actions. Love cannot exist outside of you. It is, in every inch of its existence, some kind of projection of you. Being in love is as simple as saying you are (and perhaps believing it). Being in a loving relationship is no more complicated than two people who've come together in their decision to love each other. We are fickle though, and change our minds. It's not that love dies out, or dissipates; it's more like we slowly stop choosing it. Choosing each other. But like all things in life, we aren't in control. We are subject to some kind of mystery as this is from whence our meaning is born. Our meaning beyond the meaningless. It's the illusion that we aren't in control that makes us find meaning. And so you've accidentally fallen in love with this wonderful person who's also, coincidentally, fallen in love with you.

    But don't misunderstand me. Love does exist outside of you. There is an arm of love you must interpret, understand, feel. An expression of objective facts which smoother themselves against you. There is a kind of accidental meaning in embracing it -- a part of the meaning which exceeds the simple choice to love. Or at least, that's what you should believe if you want to be okay. Because at the end of the day, being okay with it, your life, is the only alternative.

    ...Created 2017-06-21 17:17:47

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    www.youtube.com/watch?v=bjjc59FgUpg

    ...Created 2017-03-03 03:48:10

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    ...Created 2017-01-29 03:10:52

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    @@ixy-scontent.fykz1-1.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t31.0-8/16422889_1308121722615251_5505409875425959456_o.jpg?oh=c3c0b0de54baa345d174743484a9ca85&oe=59046295@600,300@

    ...Created 2017-01-29 03:10:23

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    @@i-scontent.fykz1-1.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t31.0-8/16422889_1308121722615251_5505409875425959456_o.jpg?oh=c3c0b0de54baa345d174743484a9ca85&oe=59046295@600,300@

    ...Created 2017-01-29 03:09:58

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    ...Created 2017-01-29 03:09:14

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual



    Taylor White

    ...Created 2016-11-19 10:22:49

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    I'm back. :)

    ...Created 2016-10-02 13:03:53

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    That feeling when your GPU driver updates and throws your computer off into the deep end for two days. Somewhere along the lines windows had an identity crisis. I had to reset my BIOS too, to a version that's older than the rig itself.

    . . . .

    ...Created 2016-08-03 16:29:31

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    Cuba

    There's a kind of confusion in the air;
    everywhere I see gentle smiles
    the beaches profuse with womanly wiles
    in the rivers, children fishing without a care

    and yet above the license plate of a car
    che
    an american made kind of polished brass export.

    ...Created 2016-07-21 12:23:02

    Be kind, take a few minutes to review the hard work of others <3
    It means a lot to them, as it does to you.

    Our Cinder Crisis written by SavedDragon
    Life changes in a moment written by Ramneet
    What happens written by Wolfwatching
    Love Can Be... written by HAVENSMITH92
    Sunset written by rev.jpfadeproof
    Pain, an elixir. written by Ramneet
    Wavelength written by saartha
    Trails written by Daniel Barlow
    Summer written by layDsayD
    Bond written by saartha
    A Sonnet for Nina written by SavedDragon
    Wish written by Daniel Barlow
    Be Free written by hybridsongwrite
    Hollow Points written by RequiemOfDreams
    Song written by Daniel Barlow
    Giving written by jjd
    Red Barn written by rev.jpfadeproof
    Break Up written by WriteSomething
    Still Fighting See? written by ForgottenGraves
    The Promise written by annie0888
    Pressure written by hybridsongwrite
    Once Again written by krs3332003
    Treasure Chest written by PieceOfCake
    It's Night Now written by RisingSon
    4th Season of Vivaldi written by HisNameIsNoMore
    Deaf Dumb and Blind is no excuse written by poetotoe
    Incubus written by monad
    To the King written by HisNameIsNoMore
    new moon written by CrypticBard
    This written by Chelebel

    Google
     


    poetry

    dotsLogindots

    User Name:

    Password:

    [ Quick Signup ]
    [ Lost Password ]


    January 10 07
    131,497 Poems
    Posted

    I have 14,000+ Subscribers on Youtube. See my Video Tutorials

    [ Angst Poetry ]
    [ Cutters ]
    [ Famous Poetry ]
    [ Poetry Scams ]



    FontSize:
    [ Smaller ] [ Bigger ]
     Poetry