The Worker's Pointless Problem

Once upon a time there was a lowly peasant, a worker who worked twelve hours a day beneath the baking sun on the king's various extravagant building projects. He, like nearly every other worker, hated the king and his selfish, pointless buildings, bridges, boats, and other things, for the king already had plenty of them, and the villagers weren't even allowed to glance at such architecture by law, or they would be beheaded and fed to pigs.

Bad Writing, the Road to Hell

I don't feel like I'm gaining much wisdom by typing my thoughts haphazardly. In fact, I may be loosing some. My grammar, punctuation, and paragraph structure feel like they're on a downward spiral toward nothingness.

Reading Trouble

I feel like a fool right now, a blind fool hopefully groping for some sense of fun, of meaning. I need something to hold on to, something that doesn't annoy me and that won't instantly disappear the moment that it's over. I think I need to read some more, at least until the point when I can read stuff without doubting whether I read a sentence right or not. Oh, by the way I'm having a sort of reading problem right now. (I forgot to mention that, didn't I? Silly me.)

Door

Billy got up and began walking toward the door. "Where are you going, Billy?" his mother said. He turned to her, pointed towards his head, and made a circular motion with his index finger. "Make sure to pick up some bread on your way back." she said. He slammed the door on his way out.

Each step he took on the gravel path that lead to town echoed across the barren land that lay before him. Why did he do this walk everyday? Was the one piece of bread and jar of milk really worth so much trouble? He sighed. It was pretty hot today. The sun looked kind of different as well. It was a lot more red than usual.

After two hours of walking, Billy looked up and smiled when he saw a giant watchtower far off in the distance, the edge of town. He began to increase his pace a bit, and in no time he was standing in front of a ten foot high wooden gate. 

A voice came from above. "Who goes there?" Billy looked up and saw what looked like a kid dressed in armor, must be new. "Billy goes here!" he said. The guard pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and started reading down it. "No need to check," Billy said, "I'm not on the list." The guard dropped the piece of paper. Not on the list? He looked down at Billy.

My Little Pony

There is a lot of things I can write about, but none of said things come instantly to mind, so I'll just begin my prose by saying that I don't know how I'm going to begin in some long winded sentence that no one really enjoys reading. Hopefully I can come up with something to type if I think hard enough, for I am in strange waters right now, and don't know which way goes where. There are no roman's to do as they do, so no, I can't be a copy cat. Perhaps I have to create my own village, or my own house. Perhaps I'm stuck on an island like Robinson Crusoe, and I have to survive on my own until a Friday finds me, and chooses to help me.

Sticky

I feel so stuck right now. How does that make you feel? I haven't assumed anything, so you can answer in whatever way you want. All is good. Okay. I'm done.


This is getting boring and repetitive. Goodbye.

Shakmeh!

I'm so bored. I want to do something. I want to create something, but my mind won't let be inspired by creating that thing until it's been finished, which kind of pisses me off. Wouldn't that piss you off if you couldn't know how you feel about something until it's finished. Thanks a lot forum

Writing, Yay

So, I started writing the script to a movie/play/whatever about a gang of people planning to do something to someone (I haven't really figured out what they're going to do yet, so go figure, heh heh heh), and a random book about a random person who faces a bunch of challenges after he dies

yoink

I don't like this! I don't like this at all. This is stupid; stop it! STOP STOP IT RIGHT NOW! I'm tired of this. I swear I will find you and kill you if you don't stop! STOP! Stop this bullshit! I'm tired of this. Get the hell out of my life right now. Come on! How long am I supposed to wait for you to move your fucking trap! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! Now what do I do? I dont' knowkads f wat the fuck to do. I'm so damn tired of this. I'm so tired. Over and over and over again. Never ceasing, or only appearing to be ceasing. STOP RIGHT NOW! AHAHFHAHFAHHAHAF:SHSKLJF

Out of the forest

I want to be free from these chains, man; I want to feel like I can do whatever the hell I want to do. Whatever. I need a break from this suffering thing. I need to rest, but can I? That's the question I ask myself everyday in some way or another, so should have a pretty good idea of what the answer is, but I don't, for I have never remembered the times I've asked that questions and the answers I've given myself. Have you ever forgotten something that you thought was important, then remembered it and and gotten worried about having forgotten about it. I don't know what I'm saying, for I am in a mindset that doesn't want to allow me to know what the fuck I'm saying. I shoot for the stars all the time, but I keep missing. Should I continue? Is it worth it? I don't even know why the hell I'm asking myself these questions when I already know that the answer is yes. What is wrong with me? I need to figure that out at some point. I'm kind of bored of going through these constant phases of good bad good bad good bad really good really bad. I need to get beyond the phase point and into the reality of feeling really good ninety percent of the time and understanding why I feel bad when I do feel bad. Sorry about the unprofessional decoding of the electric signals in my brain you have to witnsess. I just feel to lazy to use a better decoder now. I can't believe it, but that is actually really fun to do, say something like that, something that's metaphorical and interesting. I want to do that kind of stuff all the time, dude! I wanna be free!!!!!

And I want to love music knowing that I won't fall down and die once I stop listening to it. I want to love music for what it is, not what it was! I'm really tired of going through life thinking that I'm on a battery and no charger exists. I'd prefer to be on the food that I eat and the things that I do. I really want to live like a liver would, and when I say liver I don't mean that certain part of the human body, but I mean one who lives, who breathes, who sees the reason to keep on chugging. I need to sing, I need to love, I need someone to love. Perhaps that's why I'm feeling so bad. I have no one to love, but that's simply not the case. I have tones of people who are dear to me, who I'd be willing to die for, but why have I been giving them the cold shoulder. I don't know. I don't like saying that I don't know; you know? I really really really want to break out of these stupid chains and collars that are wrapped tightly around my neck. I can barely breathe with them here. Why do I want to spell neck like kneck? Isn't that weird? Maybe my mind connects neck with a word like knock or know. I don't want to keep saying things on repeat, so I'll say something different.

Super Mario Galaxy has an amazing soundtrack. Every orchestral piece is so magical sounding, like a fairytale, and when that magic is combined with the sci-fi element of outerspace and planets, a beautiful new creature is born. I don't know what else to say. I'm on the verge of eating my brain right now with the way its been acting, although it's gotten better. I'm afraid of time, or rather a timer. This fear of being timed makes me impatient. You know, like whatever his name is in the Mummy. "Patience is a virtue!" "NOT RIGHT NOW IT ISN'T!" I feel like that, but I don't even see the mummies faithful followers acting there. I've only heard from someone else that they might be there. So, yeah. I don't feel really great right now. My stomach has this warm feeling of some sort of pain again, but that goes away when I ignore it. I should look at the past when it didn't go away and realize that now that it does go away that my life has improved. Dammit, I hate not checking the grammar of these sentences. I want to type good sentences! I want to be a good writer. At least right now I know that I'm typing bad sentences sometimes. At least I feel it in my heart and soul.

I am alive again. I am alive again. How many times must I say that to make it true? I think it is true, but my brain won't let me feel it until I prove that it's true. Don't you see? I see that there are lots of things that I need to do right now and far away from now, but I don't want to do them in the current state that I'm in, the state that I know will disappear if I keep walking steadily down the road my feet have been firmly trapsing on for at least a month now. I just need to keep taking steps in the right direction, and eventually I'll have traveled the necessary mile and extra mile that I need to get out of this dark forest of death and destruction. The nice animals have given me good guidance on the way out; I'm probably following one of them right now. I know they don't lie, for they are good creatures who have been tested by the forest, a forest who kills liars at first sight. I suppose in this forest that a liar is the worst criminal. I've lied before, but I don't ever feel comfortable doing it.

I know the way to the village, and I'll gladly show you if you give me some gold.

Gold? I don't have any gold.

Well, what do you have?

Nothing.

Okay, then, give me some of your nothing and we'll call it even. How about that?

How can I feel honest when I'm giving you nothing.

How can I feel feel kind when I don't help someone in need. Give me your nothing. I'll take it on with you.

Okay.

Come on, lets get out of this place.

Do you know the way.

No, but I do know half of it. Do you happen to know the other half?

I don't know.

I have a feeling you do, brother.

Why are you calling me that.

Because I want you to be my friend. Come on, the half I know is this way.

How do you know that the half you know won't lead us deeper into the forest?

I don't, but I believe in myself. I think it's time that you did the same.

I ... want to.

But....

But, I don't know how.

This is the excuse I hear from every single person in the world, "I don't know how," and do you know what I tell those who say it?

What?

Nothing! Hahahahahahahaha.

You're being weird.

I know, right?

Well, all is fine and good and dandy, if ya let me see who can be.... me.

What on earth stands on this earth?

The world is alive with a fever tonight, aye? At least videogamesitesthatnooneknowsaboutwise, I would say. Now lets go and see what's been happening, or not. I'm going to talk about Sonic The Hedgehog now.

Short Stop and a Long Ride

Man, I do know. That's why I'm typing this; I know. Come on, who could possibly start typing something if some part of them didn't want to type something down? I don't know the answer to that question unless mind control has been achieved somewhere in this wicked and happy world.

Appalachian Trail

I just watched a documentary on the Appalachian Trail, which caused me to remember how much I liked Ryu from the street fighter movie, or rather what he was doing the street fighter movie, traveling randomly.

The "Wake" of progress

So, doing things and thinking about doing them is helping my mind heal by keeping me from thinking of depression. Good for me, right? Heheheheheheheheh.

Not terrible, but bland.

What a dull life we live in our cars and houses on the streets of brains splattered across the lanes, we should quickly run towards the source of happiness. When I speak of joy, I mean not the joy one experiences when in some sort of fun event, no, I mean the joy that is peace of mind, the constant tone that lets one know that life is living.

See the see from the nose of complexity.

I don't feel like working right now, so I'm typing some fun little groups of letters to get myself into feeling like working. I know that I can if I do this, so I am.

The world is so mixed up sometimes, and right now my brain feels like a gray mess of jelly and blood. I know what I believe in, and I know what I like doing, but I don't feel the feeling of animation when I try doing or believing those things. I feel like they've run dry or something,

Random free colors of thought

The way the world flies at me sometimes, it's quite a terror, but I still linger here, a lonely, outletless poet waiting for the reason to reveal itself to me. I see nature in beautiful colors, but they are only colors, right. If I try to describe the beauty, I may loose myself in it and become crazy. The insane asylum certainly doesn't reject poets. In fact, it probably attracts them somewhat, for poets are they who see the world as it truly is, like all other artists, but what makes poets special?