dying2write

I use to think that life had a funny way of working backwards a lot. It’s more like life is a t-shirt I though I was wearing the right way and it was inside-out and backwards. I’m wrong about everything

I’ve had this roadblock in my writing for a few months now. I’ve healed enough from the complete soul destruction my last relationship caused me. I can write about the feelings she made me feel and not her now. The problem is I’ve never committed myself to being able to communicate this. She picked out a name by which her character in my web comic was to be named, this will now be her name in all of my writings. I ask if you know me and her real name you do your best to refer to her by this name in relation to any publicly dispersed information. The embodiment of that time in my life is named Trixie.

“She smelled of the bitter sap that she beget from her wicked bark, and the sap she spilled was me.”

This is the first essay I wrote for my english 1a class which was based around satire.

Twilight Guardians

Let us discuss the issue at hand like adults. These are our children and we have no time to waste in deciding how they can spend theirs. We can not afford to be so liberal with them as our kin and kith were with us. We’ve lived the problem and now have the solution to it, so let us strike our hammer on the twilight. A curfew must be rectified, it is the only way to save the children from themselves.

We live in a world filled with many dangers—such fabulous and majestic trappings though they are—vices are most veiled of all the dark ilk. They do not realize the damage they wrought on themselves, a lesson which must be guarded; it is not as simple as a tap on the cauldron, but it is to swallow it whole. They are lost in a sea of angst and whore-moans, let the banishment of twilight serve as their lighthouse.

Still you cry though! We have wreaked on this lighthouse after many years of affliction and animosity, yet by allowing them the eleventh hour we send them to that same forsaken sea. You say we cannot stop the dangers from treading on the land of light and perhaps there I will have to pray for salvation. Though I know that if we save them now their hands will hold true and will not give rein to darkness during the day, such shadows surely can not exist with guidance.

We can, no—we must evoke this edict upon this land! So I call you to your arms so that we may strengthen their resolve. They know not better, they are young and dumb but not yet stung; let us be their shield to such an attack. Let we be the knives that cut the phantom hours before they can taint our herd’s fledgeling cloaks. We alone are responsible for this guard, for the beautiful torture’s touch is too perverse for their un-wised creed. This is a war we are fighting—weither you see it or not; it can allude those of certain weaker sensibilities—but remember it is not just a war on the such eldritch things, but one of the heart…and all is fair in love and war. Let us not cast it to the shore like those before.

I need to finish the whole peice;this is the opening line:

The screams of the menstruating folk-pop-indie-“star” grazed his ear as he walked through the doors of the local coffee shop; like some urban-hipster-cowboy he could feel where the bullet lyrics ripped off part of him.

World so novel
You could see that if you got out of your hovel
No, you would rather write and snovel

World at your feet
Yet you write at Pete’s
Acting so smugly elite

Worlds sing to life
Till you don’t stop to write
Then from the sky rains blight

I believe what you would categorize my mood is as “happy.” I’ve never had the chance to put it into my personal archive so my classification may be off. It may very well be bliss, hope, enlightenment, delight, pleasure and/or the delayed acceptance of inevitable-sadness. For the mean time I blindly choose to believe it’s happy; I’ve heard that’s one of it’s features.