writing thread

I surely hope that I am not the only person on this board who enjoys writing. If you have something that you'd like to share, post it here...

Anyway, my blood pressure is really low, and I'm extremely relaxed, so while listening to music, I wrote this.

There is serenity in the moment where time freezes and the past and present merge. All intertwining thought unraveling, stringing past the years and laying tapestry. Only your heart making motion, your hands and eyes totally suppressed. Bliss covers you like a linen draping over your kitchen table, and no matter how hard you want to pull it out from under the plates and dishes, you can't do it. An immovable monument to time, place and your very existence. There is peace in those waking thoughts, passing only when the world turns to listen.

I wrote this (plagiarized) into my msn personal message.

+rep to anyone who knows where the quote is from.

Mom and dad can make the rules
And certain things forbid,
But I can make them wish that they
Had never had a kid.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Yuki

I wrote this (plagiarized) into my msn personal message.

+rep to anyone who knows where the quote is from.

Mom and dad can make the rules
And certain things forbid,
But I can make them wish that they
Had never had a kid.

---

bill watterson. yay google.

edit, can we keep this pinned down to original writings please?

I remember the day I joined the Dukes. I’d always be the watchdog, idling around the crew I thought was family. All that young thuggin bullshit they went through, I was there. Was only a boy, 20 or so raised up rough in and out of the pen looking for a place to belong, and the dukes took me in. Had seen things that I wasn’t supposed to see, I done been places that I wasn’t supposed to be; for me and my crew life was a constant grind, how could I ever know the truth if my life’s a lie.
“You’re either in or out, you down with the crew my nigga?”
Those words still ring in my ear, the big man named Trav I looked up too as a young G. The only Right I knew was that which was told to me, showed to me and done by me. Making cheese was my only hobby, and if it meant slangin then so be it. A judge reading my record is the only truth I know now; robberies, assaults, felonies, possessions, such a damn fool, sometimes I wish I could just go back.
“You’re either in or out, you down with the crew my nigga?”
“I aint got shit to lose, hell yeah mutha fucka, I’m down homie, D3 Dukes nigga!”


Swung my right arm across my chest throwing up the D3 symbol to my boys knowing I was hot stuff, I’d fit in here, these are my people, the real deal. Trav grinned and clashed forearms with mine; I see the Duke symbol tattooed across it.
“See you checking out my tats, you like em Smitty?
“Yeah man that shit’s cold as a mutha fucka, think you can get a nigga spotted up?”
“Don’t worry bruh, you’ll be getting inked real soon.”
I was only thinking about how this day just keeps getting better and better, from water boy to straight ballin in no time flat. There were about 16 or 17 of us standing out here in the parking lot behind the abandoned strip mall. Shit man, had this been the other side of town the police surely would’ve been up our ass quicker than a heartbeat. But that’s how it is out here, stand together or die alone. Trav tossed me a 40 ounce Mickey, I popped the lid.
“Welcome to the crew Smitty.”
“So what’s the business now Trav?”
“Well first off get out of that shit and throw on some D3 skins can’t be seen walking these streets without it. Our name and appearance demand respect, and you wouldn’t want the wrong mutha fuckas running up on you now would ya?”
I take a quick glance around to see what the crew is swagging. Purple tees, white forces and black pants for the most part; I can get with that.
“Man Trav, thanks man means a lot to me. I’m finna get my colors together, I’ll catch up with ya later boy. If y’all doing the Duke business tomorrow ring me up, you know I’m down for whatever man.”
“Aright Smitty, dipset.”
Took a couple swigs from the 40 and dropped it on the ground, no one will care. Looked back at my crew taking small steps backwards through the alley, I smile and turn around. Getting dark out, don’t want to be caught alone, my crib aint far from here.
I remember leaving the same way I came that day, alone and feeling out of place. All was good for a minute being there with the older G’s, hanging with a crew keeping it fresh all day not giving a shit. Should’ve known it’d do me wrong, like a foreshadowing of my future leaving that lot. I keep picturing that crab grass growing through the cracks in the pavement; where there’s a will there’s a way I guess. But there’s a wrong and a right way to do it, too bad no one told me that.
I wake up to the sound of ghetto drama feeling my ears from room 22B. I know it’s that room, always some old bullshit coming from there.
“Got damnit, told your ass not to eat my got damn cereal.”
Just a pissed off old nigga with nothing to do but argue over some dumb shit, he honestly can’t think of nothing else to complain about living in a place like this. Must be protective of what little he has I guess. I’m trying to get up out of this place, but at 60 bucks a month it’ll be hard to let go even if I got to take a cold shower every morning. Rustle through my drawers checking to see if I got any purple tees. Got one, hangs just above my knees, perfect. Got a pair of black forces and black pants feeling good in my new colors, grabbed a handful of grip and stuffed it down my right pocket and my phone in my left. Made my way out the front door hearing laughter from 22B, walk down the tagged up stair case knowing I’m repping D3. I hear sirens as I role out on my bike, police speeding straight down main. 5 – 0 don’t know this area; looking dumb as hell going that fast down these shitty roads. Wonder what’s goin--, phone buzzed I grasped my pocket, it’s Trav.
“Hey Smitty what’s happening, where you at?”
“Just leaving my place, what you want nigga?”
“We got some trick running his lips, just want to spook him a bit; you’d be the perfect man for the job. Get down to the Carter, when you think you can be here?”
“Bout 10, maybe 15.”
“Oh Smitty, bring Moss with you peace bruh.”

All right, here's a piece I've been refining for a while, and I think I'm happy with how it is, for now at least. Comments, criticism, and interpretations welcome.

Return

Remind me how to stand again
I'm sure I can't on my own
Tracing lines you've left to find
Chasing your trail alone

Even though I feel this way
I'll believe what you say

Hopefully

Sleepwalk my way
Through your daydream
Footsteps are broken
All lead to the sea

Light splinters through
Tears in the seams
Distill memories
From these reveries

====================

Remind me how to stand again
I'm sure I can't on my own
Tracing lines you've left behind
Chasing your trail alone

Even though
I feel this way
I'll believe
What you say

====================

Treading through the fallen petals
Oceans drawing nearer
I see the wind run through the trees
But can't feel your breeze on me

Man, I haven't written a song in forever...Damn band breaking up :mad:

protip: this belongs in the studio

Pearoast time!
http://www.modacity.net/forums/showp...2&postcount=11

wrote this a while ago. found it while cleaning out my old floppies.

In these days of waning grace,
Of sleep strained eyes, and bitter faith,
Broken bones, and cloudy days,
Sheer by quickly, all a haze.
The furies deep, that we possess,
From now and then do we address.
On broken glass and shattered dreams,
Do we dance till fall of knees.
In these days of long lost hope,
Striving, reaching, never to cope.
Our goal, sanity while we spoke,
In our dreams until we woke.
While we drift in helpless form
Loved ones, friends, and acquaintance’ mourn.
In these days of tribulation,
Watching the subtle death of a nation,
Forgotten concepts that we comprehend,
Others have folded to move ahead.
With reckless silence do we ponder,
Praying our children will not squander.
What is ours and what is theirs,
That which is a balance as two pairs.
In these days of trials so hard,
We push the boundaries past our guard.
When we are alone,
Sitting, thinking, lying prone.
We think of things, that never happen,
We plead with god to stop those actions.
In these days of wandering thought,
Stopping to imagine things that ought.
Our troubles gone, we sit in peace,
We live at ease with silent grief.

I'm done with my Senior paper. I wrote a fictional short-story. Here's the first out of three chapters:

Chapter 1:

“Desperate times do not call for desperate measures”

I lived in a Amish community a little ways from New York. This is my story, a story about what I went through to learn what really counts in this world and what makes sense. It is about the “experience” as the people in my commune called it and it was during the 90s.

Way back when, the experience started in the 60s. It was about learning how to live off the modern world, how to use one's wits, and be responsible. To this day, hundreds from community have stayed and still others have started their own lives in this world. The idea was to be completely open-minded, and to think for oneself.

My entire family had completed the journey, and I had heard horror stories about my brother who had come back from everything in tattered clothing, starving, and dehydrated. He had planned poorly, but at least he admitted this, and kept working from this; he owns a small business now. My father, who stayed in the community and raised me here, thought it better to raise a child in this community because of the values it represented. He used to say, “Hard work is such an under appreciated thing in this society. If you take anything from me, any lesson at all, is that I don't care if you are a lawyer or a farmer, but damnit work hard. Work. Because that is the greatest respect and honor you can give me.”
'til I started my experience, this didn't mean much to me. I'm not sure if there is a kid that does, and maybe that's why we all need a little kick in the rear every time we whine about chores.

Our community was small, made up of about 200-300 members. Dirt streets, but there was a paved one leading up to the community, which rested on a hill. It was a nice community.

My friends were going through with it. I had their support, but of course, only while we were traveling to the train station. I don't think anybody wasn't anxious. It would be the first time we'd take a large step out of the community, out of a community we'd lived and learned in for our entire lives.

Over breakfast, I talked with my parents about it.
“We'll miss you. Admittedly, we'd like you to return, but again, you decide for yourself whether you want to be out there or not. At the end of the day, we just want you to be happy, wherever you happen to be,” my father said.
I moved food around my plate and looked down. It was the day before the whole thing. I felt sick, so I couldn't eat. My mother kept pushing food on me. I kept refusing, until finally she reprimanded me and told me to eat it or I'd be eating it out of the trash.

So, I ate my food.

The next day, we had our farewells. I said goodbye to my family for who knew how long. My friends were beside me, but even they wouldn't be around for long either. It made me depressed, but then I remembered what my father had said, “Being depressed, angry, or over-excited doesn't help. It clouds your judgment. You need to know this because when the time comes to make an important decision you want to think it through on the short and long term. You can't think if you're emotional.”

We were at the train station. Very old, rickety thing. Not much to it all. It wasn't a bullet train or anything like that. Just a commuter train. We'd be sitting with all of the non-Amish people on our way. I don't think I was that nervous at that point. Either it wasn't sinking in or I just took a couple of deep breathes to calm myself. The train pulled in and everybody started to pile in, commuters and Amish alike.

I was standing there, and then, for some reason, maybe it was an act of God, I had to go so badly I thought I was going to soil myself. I ran to the bathroom and was there for a good 30 seconds. I hurried to wash my hands.
As soon as I came back outside, I heard the train pulling out and I cursed and ran. The assistant conductor closed the door and I hit the guardrail at the edge of the station so hard that it winded me. I threw up and passed out.
I woke up at night. It was cool, and I stood up. I felt frustrated and like crap, but I got up on my two feet and went to the schedule board.

“Next train...” I ran my fingers down the board looking that the New York train times.

“Ah! Here, 10PM,” I was relieved. I'd be out of here in a while.

So, I waited, and thought about my family, what my father had said. I was sitting there, hands clasped, sitting on a wooden bench and staring down each end of the track. I wondered were this was going to lead me. I looked up at the sky, and thought about the miracles that God had performed to create all of this. It sent shivers down my spine. Then I heard a train coming in. So, I got my backpack, my ticket and got up with the effort of an old man coming off his rocker after spending the night on it. I was sore and cold.
“Ticket?”

I went to the assistant and handed him the ticket. He sniffed and grimaced.

“You've been drinking tonight, boy?”

“No, sir.”

He looked at me funny. I had never had a drink in my life. I knew what people looked like when they were drunk. They slurred their words and such. I didn't, and I guess that's what just made me weird. I smelled like one, but didn't act like one.

I got on the train and it left the station. I fell asleep trying to got some rest.

“New York!” called the assistant. I was jolted awake. I rubbed my eyes. My shirt was crusted, and I smelled. I looked at the money I had left: $20. It was enough to get me a new shirt and breakfast. Which I did after I got into the city later that day. People kept looking at me funny. I didn't know why. I mean, given I looked like a farm boy with a large stain on his shirt, but why did they have to keep looking at me? I didn't understand. I still don't to this day.

* * *

I never saw any of my friends after that day. It depressed me, in the months and then years that I spent out in the modern world. But that day was really an eye opener for me. I didn't loose my cool, and I kept thinking about what my father had said about thinking things through and not loosing my head in frustration or emotion

“The thug is aware that loudness convinces sixty persons where reasoning convinces but one,” - Mark Twain.

ok well, I'm sure some is going to say "old thing is old"
but no clue who made this, but i laughed a bit when a friend told me it:

Kissing is a Habit
Fucking is a game
boys get all the pleasure
girls get all the pain
5 minutes of pleasure
9 months of pain
3 days in the hospital
a baby without a name
the baby's a bastard
the mom's a whore
everything would of went well
if the rubber hadn't tore.

Inappropriate but i smiled for some reason.

My friend posted his CAS essay in a blog and I thought it was written really well so I decided to post it here:

CAS Essay
Ryan Thom
IB Candidate: 0277-086

My experience with the Creative, Action, and Service component of the International Baccalaureate Programme can be accurately described by any number of disparate (and perhaps even contradictory) adjectives - enriching, annoying, educational, infuriating, time-consuming, amusing, and entirely inspiring are just a few that immediately spring to mind. I have always considered myself a fairly active citizen in my community, and so at first the idea of CAS seemed to me a minor irritation, a requirement of hours that I would log with a little displeasure and relative ease. I had not, however, considered two significant factors: the sheer volume of CAS to be fulfilled (300 hours!); and the enormous variety of activities to which the pursuit of CAS would lead me, a veritable plethora of cultural and emotional experiences which have opened my eyes to the community beyond the scope of my local realm, and inspired me to reach new heights in activism.

That my activities would include both leadership and teamwork roles seemed only natural to me. Before entering the IB programme, I was principal clarinettist of a local youth orchestra, as well as a member of several school clubs. However, the completion of CAS more than doubled my participation in extracurricular activities - by the beginning of Year Two, I was the leader of the Gay-Straight Alliance, Head Delegate of Model UN, and Co-Editor-in-Chief of the IB Yearbook. These positions taught me that the definition of ‘leadership’ is far more complex than it seemed to me at first. A leader, I came to realize, is not simply the loudest voice in a group, nor is a leader always the person who tells his or her teammates what to do. A leader also leads by example, by awareness of the strengths of others, and by subtle communication of a group’s needs. This lesson, I have no doubt, will prove extremely valuable in my future endeavours.

Another concept that CAS has made me extremely aware of is effective time management. Volunteering for the City of Vancouver, presenting workshops at local highs schools on homophobia and discrimination, writing articles for student newspapers, and sitting on various advisory councils in my community, not to mention keeping up with schoolwork, proved an incredibly difficult strain on my time management skills (which, I concede, were never a forte of mine to begin with). In order to balance all of my commitments, I was forced to re-evaluate not only my methods of personal organization, but also my own sense of responsibility as I struggled to make time for everything I had agreed to do.

Above all, I treasure the breadth of personalities that CAS has brought me into contact with. Thanks in part to CAS, I have met some incredible youth leaders and activists from multifarious backgrounds, most notably the 29 youth who were my peers at Peace it Together camp in the summer of 2008. These young Palestinians, Israelis, and Canadians showed me what it really means to be dedicated to the world peace process. The courage and initiative displayed by some of these people are traits to which I can only aspire - and I write this with all the sincerity it is possible to write with. This experience has been tempered somewhat by the tragedy of reality - the Gaza War of 2009 in particular, but the lessons I have learned still stand:

You are not alone in the world. Open your eyes. Believe.

my own CAS essay was a bunch of last-minute bullcrap, and half of it was made of lies.

But this one written by my friend is a masterpiece.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Mr Buckshot

My friend posted his CAS essay in a blog and I thought it was written really well so I decided to post it here:

CAS Essay
Ryan Thom
IB Candidate: 0277-086

My experience with the Creative, Action, and Service component of the International Baccalaureate Programme can be accurately described by any number of disparate (and perhaps even contradictory) adjectives - enriching, annoying, educational, infuriating, time-consuming, amusing, and entirely inspiring are just a few that immediately spring to mind. I have always considered myself a fairly active citizen in my community, and so at first the idea of CAS seemed to me a minor irritation, a requirement of hours that I would log with a little displeasure and relative ease. I had not, however, considered two significant factors: the sheer volume of CAS to be fulfilled (300 hours!); and the enormous variety of activities to which the pursuit of CAS would lead me, a veritable plethora of cultural and emotional experiences which have opened my eyes to the community beyond the scope of my local realm, and inspired me to reach new heights in activism.

That my activities would include both leadership and teamwork roles seemed only natural to me. Before entering the IB programme, I was principal clarinettist of a local youth orchestra, as well as a member of several school clubs. However, the completion of CAS more than doubled my participation in extracurricular activities - by the beginning of Year Two, I was the leader of the Gay-Straight Alliance, Head Delegate of Model UN, and Co-Editor-in-Chief of the IB Yearbook. These positions taught me that the definition of ‘leadership’ is far more complex than it seemed to me at first. A leader, I came to realize, is not simply the loudest voice in a group, nor is a leader always the person who tells his or her teammates what to do. A leader also leads by example, by awareness of the strengths of others, and by subtle communication of a group’s needs. This lesson, I have no doubt, will prove extremely valuable in my future endeavours.

Another concept that CAS has made me extremely aware of is effective time management. Volunteering for the City of Vancouver, presenting workshops at local highs schools on homophobia and discrimination, writing articles for student newspapers, and sitting on various advisory councils in my community, not to mention keeping up with schoolwork, proved an incredibly difficult strain on my time management skills (which, I concede, were never a forte of mine to begin with). In order to balance all of my commitments, I was forced to re-evaluate not only my methods of personal organization, but also my own sense of responsibility as I struggled to make time for everything I had agreed to do.

Above all, I treasure the breadth of personalities that CAS has brought me into contact with. Thanks in part to CAS, I have met some incredible youth leaders and activists from multifarious backgrounds, most notably the 29 youth who were my peers at Peace it Together camp in the summer of 2008. These young Palestinians, Israelis, and Canadians showed me what it really means to be dedicated to the world peace process. The courage and initiative displayed by some of these people are traits to which I can only aspire - and I write this with all the sincerity it is possible to write with. This experience has been tempered somewhat by the tragedy of reality - the Gaza War of 2009 in particular, but the lessons I have learned still stand:

You are not alone in the world. Open your eyes. Believe.

my own CAS essay was a bunch of last-minute bullcrap, and half of it was made of lies.

But this one written by my friend is a masterpiece.

---

Hardly. I would call your friend an extremely competent writer, and also a fantastic bullshit artist. Trust me.

No but seriously, that fucker knows which side of the bread the butter is on.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Cojafoji

I would call your friend an extremely competent writer, and also a fantastic bullshit artist. Trust me.

---

QFT.