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The Boy and the SailorThe little boy stopped in front of the elder sailor, admiring the man’s stagnant position along with his strong posture. The sailor continued to smoke his decrepit pipe, unaware of the boy staring at him. The boy contemplated what he should do- whether to tap the man before asking him questions or just to start asking them aloud. As the boy pondered over what he should do, the old sailor finally took notice of the well-dressed school boy in front of him.
“What do ya want, sonny?” the sailor asked.
“I don’t rightly know, sir,” the nervous boy replied.
“Ain’t ya or ain’t ya not goin’ ask me something?”
“I’m not sure what to ask you.”
“Well, ya better ask me quick cause I’m liable to drop dead any second.”
“Lemme think, sir. Why do you wear your anchor tattoo on your leg instead of your arm?”
“Keeps me grounded this way I don’t fly away like them balloons.”
The Little PrinceOnce upon a time there was a beautiful Prince, and he loved. That was his blessing and his curse. He felt everything, so deeply, good and bad, and it pierced his soul. It hurt the Prince to love so deeply, and he saw that no one else did. So he forgot that his curse was also a blessing and he hated himself because of it. He felt the pain deeper and deeper and forgot the love. He couldn't make the pain go away, but the devil sent whispers to him telling him he could, but the love and the beauty had to go first. So he tried to kill the beauty inside of him. Tried to convince himself it didn't exist. And he felt the pain deeper and deeper and the love and the beauty less and less.
Finally he went to the devil, intent on trading his beauty for a life with no pain. He begged the devil to take away his pain.
"But first little Prince, I want your love, and your beauty." the devil said. So the little Prince reached inside of himself and pulled out a shimmering, pulsing, glowing orb of beauty a
VoidHow long does it take for the dreamer to realize that the dream can never be? My life spins in an endless void, going deeper downward into an unknown world. What can I do to stop this paradox that I’m force to dance with? There is nothing here to see, nothing here to hear, nothing here to grasp. Falling downward, when will it end? My mind is buzzing with insane tired thoughts, making me want to close my eyes and sleep by-and-by.
Wake me when this torment ends, wake me and tell me I’m still alive. The endless sleep is here, pulling into the ethereal void. Where is the light that is bound to those whose soul seeks to find escape? No one can hear me in this place, I can only beg for someone to save me. I know I’ve been here before, the place so endless and constant, tormenting the mind through this bottomless pit.
The fathomless agony that hounds those who venture through, oft lose their memories by casting them from their ingenious minds; discarding them aside for
2 heads are better than one.Two heads are better than one: Short stories about people with two heads, so virtuous with one head, don’t lose theirs.
1. The 2 headed monster metaphor.
2. The Siamese twins that did not want to sell to everybody.
3. The Siamese twins who do not care for what they published on Internet.
The beauty of writing / drawing lies in perfecting our skills as a samurai learn to make perfect cuts with his katana or in the same way a basketball player learn to dunk.
If you are part of the artistic community of DeviantArt what I write today may interest you, or if you're on DeviantArt to appreciate their art, you may find seeds of knowledge among my letters.
I can’t hide it, I love writing, but what I like the most is to philosophize about positive aspects that help me be a better person. What you are about to read is a compil
And now she never willA young girl had taken to wandering on a road that went from her house.
The sky was a blend of yellow as if they fields were growing into it. Golden Fields. noting ever changed.
Suddenly there was a man on the road a man she'd never seen as she'd seen no one before on these roads at all. She stood and looked at him, he wore a top had, a coat too large that it draped the ground tailing behind him. white gloves and a mask.
He in a second was upon her folding her hands into his, his masked face next to hers as if he were about to whisper something to her that would change it all. she stood silent looking into his brilliant cold eyes something shining behind them as the light left her own.
The man kept walking as he left her there laying on the road He had more things to do and no time to do them. Her golden hair streaming like rivers of gold, a small bat flew from her coat, and I have not the time to mention where it came from. just that it was her only friend in the
The butterflyThe 7:15 alarm.
Don't you just hate the 7:15 alarm? Of course you do. Everyone does.
So I was bad today. I've been good so many days in a row now that I deserve it. I snoozed until half past and grabbed my coffee from the starbucks at Michigan and 11th instead.
Thankfully I was able to find a spot, downtown Chicago traffic isn't a spacious place, least of all in the morning rush.
The Hyundai ran great, getting it was a good idea.
The roads cleared up a bit as I approached the office, and I was able to pick up some speed across the Williamsburg bridge.
At the red light at State and Adams there was a butterfly. A pretty one, with lemon wings, flapping idly in the wind.
At the next light I killed a woman.
She was crossing the road when I hit her, swerving away, but still hitting her at her left temple with my headlamp, dragging her along, killing her.
She had blond hair.
"Are you drunk, sir?" They are asking me now. The police. I insist I am not.
"Are you drunk, sir?"
The 7:15 alar
Mr. Foxworth and The Raven Haired LadyA hungry Mr. Foxworth wandered around town in hopes to find some food. However, with the lack of money in his pockets, no grocery store or restaurant would even let him inside. So, his search continued until he stumbled upon a raven haired lady with a basket of fruit.
He went up to her with a sly smile and charmingly said, "Oh my, you are beautiful. Why, if your voice is even half as beautiful as your face, you must be destined for fame and fortune. Let me hear you sing."
She smiled at this flattery. And accepted the challenge eagerly. She set the basket on the ground walked over to pick up a wine glass from a table at the nearby café. The raven haired lady waled a high pitch note until the glass broke into small pieces. She stood there triumphantly with the broken glass in her hand.
However, by the time she looked up, Mr. Foxworth had already run more than a block away along with her basket of fruit. She pouted and looked down at her feet, where she found a note.
MomentsSometimes there are moments when the world should stop.
Moments, made for the sole purpose to shock. To yell silently and falling down unconscious on the spot. To inflict suffering.
There are very many of these moments, thousands, even trillions, even more sad moments than happy moments, but I think that would not surprise anyone, right? At least not the ones who go through life without hiding their eyes behind the palms of their neighbours.
Sometimes there are moments clinging to the duration of one breath. Moments which only contain the blink of an eye.
And if one of those moments is suddenly over and the pulse starts to pound again, the blood rushes back into the ears and the throat feels sore and rough, one wonders why the world has not stood still then. Why not all people sit stunned on their knees while their hands cover up their heads and cry cry CRY.
Why the water does not freeze and the fire is immutably burning.
Why the tears don’t stick on their che
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