Post by Yzxstuhl on Oct 31, 2013 13:41:34 GMT
I've started writing these for one reason or another. I mostly just start with an idea and follow it wherever it goes, but they do hold a deeper meaning which I hope to get the world to follow if I can. I guess what I'm saying (Just following the flow here) is that I wish to show the world what I make of it, to show it what it has become in my eyes. Some of my writing may be uplifting, some may be depressing, some might motivate you. Just follow one simple rule: If you don't want to read it, don't.
Dreams
Create/Independence
Dreams
Dreams are what make us.
Some people dream about achieving fame, or becoming rich, or both.
I dream about faraway lands beyond sight; foreign, alien planets of epic proportions and scenery. Some are paradises; rich, rolling green hills with cool, perfectly clear skies above, bordered by lush, dense forest, all of which eventually gives way to deep, mysterious blue oceans. These oceans are filled with shining, peaceful fish which live amongst colossal, vibrant corals. These oceans are not salt; no, salt would burn ones eyes without a mask, and imply an impurity. No, these oceans are pure water, oxygenated to allow the fish to thrive. Imagine swimming here, in a land of perfection, where the sun does not scorch and the rain does not freeze. Imagine swimming amongst the shoals of fish and coral, running across the almost endless plains, exploring the safe forests. A utopian planet.
Some planets might be habitable if one was lucky; perhaps somewhere beneath the ground, dominated and controlled by the vile, toxic swamps filled with dangerous, burning goo. Funguses and mosses which move, breath, think and kill simply because they can. Not a single match can be struck; to do so would be to turn the planet into an even less habitable inferno of hellish proportions. No, the only way to to is to dig in safe areas. Colonies of humans set up airlocks, remove the foul, evil air from their living areas, and then dig, in a higher form of safety. However,even the ground itself may be uninhabitable, if it chooses to do so. A planet designed to test a survivalist's skills to the limits.
Some planets are only for one to view; vast, basalt and obsidian blasted planets, newly formed infants of what they will become. Ash and smoke hide their forms, bellowing from the many volcanic mouths spread across their surface. These volcanoes are of epic proportions, being such a magnitude in pure size that no word within a vocabulary could amply describe them. Vast, glowing rivers of lava pour from them, aggressive and heartless to what they may destroy. Not even the ground itself is a haven to humans; in places, the dirt and soil we step upon does not exist, turning from smooth black stone to raging, violent magma in a distance thinner than paper; in others, the ground tries to protect its inner self with dangerous, explosive substances. A cross, red and black planet, designed for adventure and danger.
I dream of the future; Vast cities in every element possible, on land, sea and air; giant stations in space, to serve as outposts for those willing to travel out into the wild, endless unknown. In each colony, glowing intangible webs of blue light sprawl throughout them, with many inhabitants following them. Some of them are free to choose the path they wish to take, go where they please, do as they wish. Some are captives to the holographic form of the 'Multinet,' drawn so deep into the spider's gaze they cannot stray from its imprisonment of trails; or, they simply choose not to, due to a lack of free will, or a form of laziness to such a degree they do not wish to care even for themselves. Those within its grip often are found straying from the blue and heading deep into the red; that is where the evil resides, the true spider of temptation resides. Those who wander into it's home are to often unable to leave. They have become lost, in more ways than one.
When I awaken, I do not awaken to what I dream of. There is no utopia, no future, no epic adventure. I awaken to the form reality has taken, one of a nightmare, where men kill men without reason, where sacred traditions are treated as though they were as expendable as banana peels, where many struggle to survive not just from others, but from themselves. Some aspects of my dreams are true, but never the good parts; the spider follows me home, and spreads it's web across more victims. Many places have become toxic like the swamps, but unlike it they were not supposed to be that way, they were made like this by the destructive iron gauntlet of a single race. This race is powerful, yet weak; intelligent, yet stupid; brave, and yet cowardly. This race controls all they survey, are more intelligent than any other organism they see, and were more daring than anything they observed, and expanded. What a shame, what an almighty shame, that the race cannot view it's own form completely; maybe then, it would realise it is just like the others.
Powerless to their own actions. Mindless to their temptations. Feeble to each other.
Maybe one day we will all truly awaken.
Some people dream about achieving fame, or becoming rich, or both.
I dream about faraway lands beyond sight; foreign, alien planets of epic proportions and scenery. Some are paradises; rich, rolling green hills with cool, perfectly clear skies above, bordered by lush, dense forest, all of which eventually gives way to deep, mysterious blue oceans. These oceans are filled with shining, peaceful fish which live amongst colossal, vibrant corals. These oceans are not salt; no, salt would burn ones eyes without a mask, and imply an impurity. No, these oceans are pure water, oxygenated to allow the fish to thrive. Imagine swimming here, in a land of perfection, where the sun does not scorch and the rain does not freeze. Imagine swimming amongst the shoals of fish and coral, running across the almost endless plains, exploring the safe forests. A utopian planet.
Some planets might be habitable if one was lucky; perhaps somewhere beneath the ground, dominated and controlled by the vile, toxic swamps filled with dangerous, burning goo. Funguses and mosses which move, breath, think and kill simply because they can. Not a single match can be struck; to do so would be to turn the planet into an even less habitable inferno of hellish proportions. No, the only way to to is to dig in safe areas. Colonies of humans set up airlocks, remove the foul, evil air from their living areas, and then dig, in a higher form of safety. However,even the ground itself may be uninhabitable, if it chooses to do so. A planet designed to test a survivalist's skills to the limits.
Some planets are only for one to view; vast, basalt and obsidian blasted planets, newly formed infants of what they will become. Ash and smoke hide their forms, bellowing from the many volcanic mouths spread across their surface. These volcanoes are of epic proportions, being such a magnitude in pure size that no word within a vocabulary could amply describe them. Vast, glowing rivers of lava pour from them, aggressive and heartless to what they may destroy. Not even the ground itself is a haven to humans; in places, the dirt and soil we step upon does not exist, turning from smooth black stone to raging, violent magma in a distance thinner than paper; in others, the ground tries to protect its inner self with dangerous, explosive substances. A cross, red and black planet, designed for adventure and danger.
I dream of the future; Vast cities in every element possible, on land, sea and air; giant stations in space, to serve as outposts for those willing to travel out into the wild, endless unknown. In each colony, glowing intangible webs of blue light sprawl throughout them, with many inhabitants following them. Some of them are free to choose the path they wish to take, go where they please, do as they wish. Some are captives to the holographic form of the 'Multinet,' drawn so deep into the spider's gaze they cannot stray from its imprisonment of trails; or, they simply choose not to, due to a lack of free will, or a form of laziness to such a degree they do not wish to care even for themselves. Those within its grip often are found straying from the blue and heading deep into the red; that is where the evil resides, the true spider of temptation resides. Those who wander into it's home are to often unable to leave. They have become lost, in more ways than one.
When I awaken, I do not awaken to what I dream of. There is no utopia, no future, no epic adventure. I awaken to the form reality has taken, one of a nightmare, where men kill men without reason, where sacred traditions are treated as though they were as expendable as banana peels, where many struggle to survive not just from others, but from themselves. Some aspects of my dreams are true, but never the good parts; the spider follows me home, and spreads it's web across more victims. Many places have become toxic like the swamps, but unlike it they were not supposed to be that way, they were made like this by the destructive iron gauntlet of a single race. This race is powerful, yet weak; intelligent, yet stupid; brave, and yet cowardly. This race controls all they survey, are more intelligent than any other organism they see, and were more daring than anything they observed, and expanded. What a shame, what an almighty shame, that the race cannot view it's own form completely; maybe then, it would realise it is just like the others.
Powerless to their own actions. Mindless to their temptations. Feeble to each other.
Maybe one day we will all truly awaken.
Create/Independence
Imagination is dying. As the world gets older, there is less and less to think of, less needs to be filled. Instead, we simply copy. We copy like an imperfect printer, everything a doppelgänger of the next, and there's nothing we can do to stop it. Imagination is a fire; the world is running out of fuel. Eventually, it will die, and with it so many, many different skills. Blatantly replicated versions of 'art' are considered commonplace; anything that is even hinted at being one of a kind is priceless to the point of global wars occurring over its ownership. The world is unable to sustain its own creative colours, and becomes a vast, desolate wasteland of white, red and grey. Free will leaves with it's brothers; without creation, without the capability to think unlike others, there is no need for government, police, or law. None can think unlike the other, and the world eventually becomes nothing more than a machine, it's living gears forever moving, achieving nothing and doing nothing. The world becomes without purpose, and as such, the beautiful maiden of hope leaves.
But this is not meant to be, no! This is not how the race was to die. No, the 'master race' makes a revelation, and imagination explodes back into existence. While there is no longer originality on earth, there is more to be explored. The race finds purpose; the machine speeds up, now with a purpose and goal, to construct vessels aimed at the sky. The race plans to leave, expand, and find new inspiration out there. They set off on their journey, arriving at places that one could only dream of, places of beauty unrivalled in any form. Inspiration flows from everywhere, every river, creek, waterfall, star, planet, moon, cloud, sky, atom and galaxy. But something is wrong.
The race makes little progress. They arrive at their unknown destinations, but quickly grow bored. They gained a brief sense of purpose, and loose it within a moment used to blink. Once again, they begin to copy, and it all occurs again. Why is this so? Why, even though it leaks from everywhere, can the race not be original? Because they forgot. The race died out long ago, when they forgot how to imagine. The race continues to expand, but the results do not change. They loose faith, and simply continue to expand their bleak, meaningless existence, of complete unity without singularity. None are original. None create. And eventually, their very life force forgets to create; without the ability to pass on kin, the race dies, leaving no legacy, except the warning of their tale.
Never forget to create, to be independent, and unlike all others; without it, you will die, and the world with you. Cherish your faults, flaws, and strengths. Do not loose purpose.
But this is not meant to be, no! This is not how the race was to die. No, the 'master race' makes a revelation, and imagination explodes back into existence. While there is no longer originality on earth, there is more to be explored. The race finds purpose; the machine speeds up, now with a purpose and goal, to construct vessels aimed at the sky. The race plans to leave, expand, and find new inspiration out there. They set off on their journey, arriving at places that one could only dream of, places of beauty unrivalled in any form. Inspiration flows from everywhere, every river, creek, waterfall, star, planet, moon, cloud, sky, atom and galaxy. But something is wrong.
The race makes little progress. They arrive at their unknown destinations, but quickly grow bored. They gained a brief sense of purpose, and loose it within a moment used to blink. Once again, they begin to copy, and it all occurs again. Why is this so? Why, even though it leaks from everywhere, can the race not be original? Because they forgot. The race died out long ago, when they forgot how to imagine. The race continues to expand, but the results do not change. They loose faith, and simply continue to expand their bleak, meaningless existence, of complete unity without singularity. None are original. None create. And eventually, their very life force forgets to create; without the ability to pass on kin, the race dies, leaving no legacy, except the warning of their tale.
Never forget to create, to be independent, and unlike all others; without it, you will die, and the world with you. Cherish your faults, flaws, and strengths. Do not loose purpose.
i was kinda excited to feel like im back in 2015