Sign up to EliteSkills

Already have an account? Login to Roleplay.Cloud
Forgot password? Recover Password

An Exercise in Living : Tasting the World

Author: doppelganger
ASL Info:    26/f/your brain
Elite Ratio:    1.98 - 34 /223 /160
Words: 638
Class/Type: Misc /Misc
Total Views: 996
Average Vote:    4.0000
Bytes: 3507


I just wrote. I'll probably edit it later, just lengthen it a bit in certain places.
It's nothing really. Nothing other than an idea that comitted suicide by jumping out the window of my head... and this is the brainmatter that's littered on the sidewalk.
It's not meant to be taken seriously, as in the form and things like that. As my point when writing this was to not care about the limits or criteria needed for it to classify as a "poem" or a "story" or anything.

An Exercise in Living : Tasting the World

I once spent some time in a large room. There I watched a faux daisy shed a few tears. Honestly, I could feel no empathy for my plastic friend as her beauty was the reward for the pain she felt.
And through the vents I heard a voice, one I thought was that of my father. Though he sounded more like the fruit vendor down on Green avenue, but I trusted him none the less. The voice distracted me from counting the sparkles that littered the wooden planks that held the ceiling up. He said “You are so flawed that it’s no surprise you’re lying in a million pieces.”
At that the daisy wept harder.
So I shifted my left leg to comfort the chill of the right, and outstretched my hand to reach the telephone. It was one of those glamorous old types that you’d see in a film from the fifties. The thing was possibly diamond encrusted, though worth counted for little in that room. With one finger I dialed the numbers that the man in the vent breathed to me, and I waited.
Tap tap tap… my boot on the concrete floor.
“Yes, hello?”
“Yeah, I need some help.”
“Oh really? What can I do?”
“Well you see, I’m in a state of disrepair.”
“Copy, no problem.”
“Thank you.”
And with a light click of the telephone on the reciever, the conversation ended. The far left wall began to hum. After about 15 minutes of that humming, and the light flickering from yellow to green, a shadow expelled itself from the glittery surface. With gangly arms and legs it strode towards me, my old friend.
I lit the tip of my cigarette and drew in a breath. My friend nodded. That meant he was well and the process would begin soon. Smoke billowed in Greek curlicues away from me and filled the room with a pink haze. As I reached to my right for the ashtray (a hollowed out doll head), the shadow reached out to my left with a coca cola bottle filled with something that was too busy shimmering to be concerned with its eminent demise.
I raised one feathered eyebrow and took the bottle from him. “This?” He bowed. That meant I was correct in assuming that the fluid in question would do the job. The drink was remarkably beautiful, more attractive than the tragic daisy. It seemed to be the blood of the angels who cry in secret. Or perhaps the earnest breaths of forbidden lovers. But that’s beside the point.
A humming to the left.
My attention was broken once more by a cough from the vents, and when I peered up, my friend had already left me. With a salute I wrote in the air with my pinky “Goodbye friend, thank you. I hope to find you well again when I return.” And I heard a smile from the phone. That meant he got the message. So with flamingo lips, I kissed the bottle and the liquid filled every pore of my body.


I awoke asleep on a gargantuan mirror shaped like a human heart. A heart that was making love to a human brain. And I? Their child. I was completely naked, save the peacock feathers that were woven into an intricate blanket over me. I stood, with new legs, and stared at the void which surrounded me. Then I noticed, some words were staring back at me.
Written in pink lipstick, between the heart and the mind, were the words “To truly live, we must die. And to gain the world, we must lose everything.”

Then I realized, this void was the world and it was my job to create the soul of it.

Submitted on 2009-03-25 00:27:30     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
Edit post

Rate This Submission

1: >_<
2: I dunno...
3: meh!
4: Pretty cool
5: Wow!


  this is so surreal in a max ernst way... i would have said dali, but i never cared for him.

its like this painting you can get really close to and appreciate all the texture, the color, the story behind the story behind the story. and it makes sense, in the no sense.

the last lines - yea.. kudos
| Posted on 2009-03-28 00:00:00 | by isabella | [ Reply to This ]
  wow.......perhaps an allusion but that is introspectively amazing......seriously impressed.

not much else to say. but uh yeah. give it the imagined good shock look.
| Posted on 2009-03-25 00:00:00 | by cornonthekob | [ Reply to This ]

Think Feedback more than Compliments :: [ Guidelines ]

1. Be honest.
2. Try not to give only compliments.
3. How did it make you feel?
4. Why did it make you feel that way?
5. Which parts?
6. What distracted from the piece?
7. What was unclear?
8. What does it remind you of?
9. How could it be improved?
10. What would you have done differently?
11. What was your interpretation of it?
12. Does it feel original?