Where chaos stops and more chaos ensues. Where Filia plays the electric keyboard.
Where anything goes.
-//o_O\\7 *Home of the Awful, Mediocre and Pathetic* -//u_u\\7
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Where chaos stops and more chaos ensues. Where Filia plays the electric keyboard. Where anything goes. -//o_O\\7 *Home of the Awful, Mediocre and Pathetic* -//u_u\\7 |
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Saturday, January 10, 2004 (3) It's time to go, isn't it? (My eyes really hurt, after reading lots of fanfiction, finally reopening my original two projects (after lots of thought and a nice bowl of ramen ...) and writing more about RPing, and finally this. Hey, if this is supposed to add some regularity to my schedule, then I shouldn't be postponing it, should I? But then, I'm the only one who really reads this stuff and so all this blabber is merely a form of self-appeasement (grr ... must ... devour ... self ...) so that I don't take it out on myself for being so lazy.) Needless to say, however, if this beautiful cliff was to be my heaven, the slightest hint of Reality would be its angel ... its angel of Death. Insidiously, try as I might to avert my eyes, to evade it in any way possible, it appeared before me. The scales of reckoning seemed to appear in its hands, on one side weighing the pain and torment of life, and on the other calculating the inexorable punishments of attempting to avoid it. Despite my desires, it was necessary that I leave, or more accurately, forcibly eject myself from such a paradise of non-consideration. It's time to go ... I knew that already. But how will you choose, Charlotte? To achieve bliss, and then to toss it over one's shoulder? To pull oneself from the dew of the unsullied morning to return to the poisonous miasma of chaos and convictions hanging about life? To turn from the shimmering diamond of satisfaction, dazzling in its purest form, to the anvil of burdens and duties, to be the hammer that mashes upon it indefinitely only to wear itself out on the summoning of short-lived sparkles. Nothing in life tastes as sweet as the nectar that has been drawn from one's mouth, leaving you gaping like an unmasked wound that can never heal. But to follow that thread, into the labyrinthine pandemonium through which it leads? The choice, indeed, no choice at all, for it was forced upon me, no longer seems such a necessary yet hatable one. For always there exists the invisible option, the one always present but never mentioned. Why return to the material world of hatred an sorrow when one can preserve the final, purest, and, in comparison, only moment of bliss in unfathomable nothingness? With a heart purged of all regrets, and a mind like any other that saw little beyond immediate satisfaction, I pushed myself forward as if to sit bolt upright, in that last defiant subjection to despotic custom, and with the gentleness of one desiring little more than freedom from unlimited submission I released my grip on the last tangible thing I held dear. I defeaned my ears to the last temptations whispered by the whistlings of the wind, till in their irrepressibility they grew too loud, deafening me to hearing them. The flailing of my hair yanked my neck upwards like the final, futile and unavoidably involuntary grasp and the flutter of my eyelids offered me a last fleeting glimpse, one which, in the little time I had to decide I effortlessly declined. Why suddenly clutch at straws? At every golden summit in our lives we inevitably find a swift and thorny precipice, but now I felt and knew I had jumped from its base to reach it. Just as the last salty whiff of the sea escaped my senses, a sharp thorn speedily ripped into the corpse, the cross I had formerly borne, and splintered it efficiently. And while emotionlessness flooded my mind with coolness, a final nagging sensation tugged at the last of my cares. The warm carouse of blood on my inner lip, its delectable sanguine quality, reminded me of that nectar which coursed through and dripped from my only true worldly possession. This was a taste I would not be missing. - your adventure ends here ... - Ooh ... nasty. No, not the description of one of the myriad ways by which you could possibly get killed, but the ludicrous amount of similes and metaphors tossed in at random. Although I am occasionally amused (occasionally read both in the sense of "infrequent" and "temporary") by the rare clever comparison, I often find the graitituous use of them by annoying authors trying to be dramatic utterly appalling. Plus, such comparisons also hint at the lack of originality or creativity of the write, seeing as to how they often have to appeal to something common in order to be understood. How nonsensical. For that matter, I can categorically state I have never written a satisfactory ending to anything I have written because I never actually reached the end yet or have not had any time to conclude it (or I would have extended it). So what does this mean? To preserve my record ... I guess that's not the end! Hahaha ... *twisted cackle* ... and there's still another five, at least. Maybe I should keep this up until other people start writing as well to prove that there are so much better things out there to read so until that happens (...never...) I will babble. Oh, that took me at least an hour and then some to write, so that shows how much thought I put into it. Hmm ... Charlotte crashed into a pile Her lips bewrought with sickened smile And though she soon had gone to sleep The pile exclaimed "Oh, what a *beep*!" Hmm ... hey! I don't ever mention it but for the first time, my NationState got the first in the world! Woohoo *bounces around the place*! Anybody want some soda? posted by Charlotte | 3:15 pm
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Disclaimer : The Slayers and Filia Ul Copt and all images thereof are the property of Hajime Kanzaka and Rui Araizumi. I don't own any of them, although if I had a choice I would want Filia ... ~//n_n\\7 |
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