i started this yesterday and tomorrow i will finish it

.i guessed. I guess thats where it all went to a halt, a haunting end to a start that was never holy. But i gave it a name. The name didnt fit, names never do. All you can hope for is for them to almost fit and this is what this name did, almost. I've seen the names of children some sort of shortcut to personalities, that at a glance they're ment to live up to. And i wonder if its a twist of fate that they fail or come undone,triumph and pass the test. Maybe a hero's name was always a villan's to someone else?
Outside the bubble, played out in nature, predator and prey. I feel closer to the second of the two, the anomalies speak clearer and when they do speak, they are echoed.
When you are born into a name its near impossible to believe in choice. The first breath of life, our first fight for survival and freedom is greeted by a shortcut, a prediction to our end.
I thought it was a beginning, i looked around for a sign to signify that it was all new or was it already born into a life that i gave? Maybe a life that i stole and called something exactly the same. One way or the other, the best way is to work backwards from the start. Its what we all do best, who am i to be any different? Is it possible?
Possibilities, most will find are a mere helpful reasoning to describe the helpless. In our case, no one was to know any better. There had always been more books written about the past than the future. My path was going to change all that. Or so i thought.

The name was given and the voyage began. Ships of space, land and water all of which are the same creations. created by a similar force that is needed to create them in the first place. I looked around to see if it was the right way, why i bothered it was mere impulse. Impulsive delusion that the rest hadn't quite recognized, yet will still take advantage of without the slightest knowledge of what it means. They were in
their place, I was in mine. We untied and cast off, we tied up our shoes and walked, we thought and we were headed in the direction somewhere we intended.
Even as I remember how i got to where i was going, i never thought that i would be able to keep up with my initial plan. The man that was with me tried to keep up, he never did, not even close. The girl that went along for the ride also, lost her way and chose another path. I had no control, not that i had ever intend to lead anyone astray. Intentions wander most of the time towards something that is completly opposite to
what they were to begin with.

During a time in which the days morphed into nights without any recognizable attachment, we too slipped into a world we had no idea we were sliding into. A reality that tended to be something of dream and nightmare rolled into one.
He, an average man of no important means alas of which is of no means at all. I was his means and I too would be his end. She, quite the opposite, a whore found on every corner that needed the most attention and love mainly because of how exactly the same she was to him.

Nothing was special about either one, yet nothing quite as unique as two separate people being the same. He had the speech of a layman and the 'deep thought' of a monk, the willpower of an addict and the charm of fingernails on chalkboards. He would walk around like the world hadn't had him beat, although I am not sure whether he knew he was even in a fight. Her, herself different but attritubutes that amount to the
equivalent, figures in a town where they both somehow grew up alongside each other without fate intervening. "Yeah i know that name i just cant put a face to it." "Nah never heard of her, think my mate knows her brother though, she’s got a brother yeah?"
The same tired old talk amongst small town dullards were déjàvu doesn’t seem to register anymore, somehow camouflaged but still right out in the open. i find it amusing, but when a sentence ends its like a sigh of relief can be read across your face and through your body, your centre of gravity becomes limp, your eyes jump from the page to some view thats neutral and then you try and get back into the same eyes. Why? Im not sure, i intended my ending, but then again i intend yours and through intending, make it so. Intention, i thought wasn’t certain or even an ends but in your case, which is my case, it becomes truth.
Over the years things had changed or was that just stayed the same? People had more to care about, people had people to care about and now nothing but themselves took priority. Even art was turning selfish in away.
"I can’t explain the words anymore
Cannot give them meanings you dont understand or want to
Can’t show you the way if you dont know how to walk
can’t teach you to speak if all you do is talk,
The language of the impartial has wrapped our tongues
and fed them to the fishes covered in lead
Every word may be your last
every breath a waste with the words you always choose
so quick to talk, but the wit never quite as fast
and all those winning sayings are so amusing to me
cos i know you never thought em up
and i know you aint know what they ment
even now or before, you thought youd come across bright
stop at the edge of your eye and look at yourself
instead of lookin at them.
think yourself so small and so large
that your pupils are moons in the sky
Pitch black, hollow and freezing cold, all alone.

One morning or upon waking from that one morning onwards i noticed something different. Something not so easily put down, like a family pet
thats struggle to survive is played out a lot longer than it has to be through the owners sheer reluctance to just let go. It was as if I had awakened into a web, a net of entangled stories that I had never read before but i was a character in all. An indescribable awareness that no matter how hard one would try to resist in playing their part, the story would still unfold around them. The bubble that i was in had burst, the bubble i was now in, a lot less rehearsed. A switch had been flicked, a channel changed to recieve information willing or not.Things seemed sharper but not clearer, there was no way of getting out of the path. I am always swaying and clutching my own hands. A nervous movement that only can be described as an action involuntary. I tried to see through it instead i saw, for what it is. Involuntarily, unwilling but participating. It all becomes natural and thats the problem.
Another door opened that may close but still stays in the hallway of corridors and avenues that i could never walk back through. "We are
certain to know it is not healthy to go back from where we have progressed". The days continued flowing along some shape that was not quite
circular but more so cylindical. There was never such a thing as good and evil, right and wrong. Just get to where you were headed all along.
"With every window there may lay opportunity but with every window theres also a reflection." i take comfort in the latter.

Ive put this pen to paper for so long and the ink all dries up, becoming forced from the moment I hit the paper. I was not born to be forced which is ironic for in the way in which i came into being. My life would be shaped by the moment of my birth and the moment of my deaths. For a man doesnt die just once but on a multiple of levels, a multiple of times before slowly he is beaten down by a force he was destined to
equal.
Not even words can save me when the world is juxtaposed like it is now. Nor up, nor down, it feels as if ill never be in the middle the words keep spilling out and making the other ones erase and lose their place amongst all the others but the others keep coming! In and out, it feels as if i wont be in motion long enough. Words u have to read are stronger than words you have to hear. We use the text to let onto each other who we are, back and forth like spit in each others mouth when we kiss.
All Ive been seeing lately is the people walking that i am walking along side that seem to think they have a limit to how many ideas they can own. They say “I better not go along with this one as i might erase one i already have committed to.” And when i hear that i think i am going crazy and whisper to myself "I believe in myself and nothing rather than everyone and anything, I would rather believe in myself and no one
else then believe in anything like everybody else, I will believe in nothing but myself and never everything like anyone, you cant make me believe in you and anything when id rather believe nothing, alone."
(More and more I know what has to be done.)
A day in my past when my future was told to me in the present, i came to and saw myself sitting upon or better yet grasping to the brink of death. A scene that i would later live my entire life around and in antipaction. I found comfort in the predictability of it all, that the only certain thing in the world is death. I would play my part and that would be the end of it. I can feel it attack the front part of my brain, accessing folders that haven’t been opened for a long time. The sounds that i was listening to are replaced by long drawn out hums. I cant concentrate on many things at once but i can concentrate on whatever i put my attention towards intently and then everything else goes quiet and in the background.
"Life is only choosing when to die, a big postponement because the choice is so difficult. It's a tremendous relief not to haveto choose..."
In my daydreaming i had been there before and i would go there again, it was familiar. I was alone, helpless isnt the word, there was not even
a choice to receive help. It was in the vision where my daydream triggered my dejavu an endless loop that somehow i needed them to help me out of. There's that word
again, cause and effect were beginning and i was the first chain in the link or maybe the end. I would find out eventually.

I was not afraid. How could i be? i had already seen what was meant to happen. Everything i did was in some way or another an acceptance of what i was going to do next. But you, i never saw you coming, i could never dream you up, not in the millions of years i was about to live in solitude. All those stars that had just burnt out the moment i finally met you, those stars and every other are all linked to one another. Each has a certain amount of energy we can obtain from them. Therefore also carrying a specific possibility. When they flicker someone or something is using that energy to get to the next star. With all the stars in the sky, all the possibilities that could multiply through each interaction why would salvation come to
me? Why had we chosen each other? I was stuck in limbo like Pilate without a course of my own to followHe can seperate us such as God did Adam and Eve but destiny will play out and he will be the Judas, and you the one at my right.

As an alien of infinite space why would they choose to come to a planet with such a final possibility? All the energy used up to get to a planet so far from the source. Knowledge they must've already have known if they came here to begin with. Why would they stay? Yes, our ideas are universal but hardly worthwhile. How would they communicate with us when we are so into ourselves? So far away that we couldnt get back
from. Progress would stop, contempt would be born.
====.,//;''[]];'',//.'';]]['';//..,,,.-=-][';/.';][=-][';.=====

"And youre back in the room." I snapped and broke out of my already broken attention lapse. Bubbles continue to float toward the light and then pop once theyve ran their course, instantly forgetting what they were and moving onto a different form. Properties maybe of the opposite but intended none the less to live out till the end of whoevers existence they would cling to. Stay by me and fill my frontal lobe with information
of everything you see. The next me can somehow catch a glimpse of how im suppose to be but when i look back as the new me on the me that had the premonition something doesnt quite fit, a doubt much the same as hearing ones own voice. How can we get passed and beyond when we cant believe ourselves when heard in third person? My inner voice has been speaking all this time and slowly, ever so gradually he changes tone and becomes distant and new. Is it still me in there? I wonder and he answers. Always sitting on the fence but does it surround my property?

Do i struggle anymore to find out what i must have already have known? Do i continue to play russian roulette for a debt i know i can never
repay? Do i kill myself in the most weakest and opportune moments id ever see or will ever see again? Do i wonder any longer about how it will all unfold? Do i prepare for something that i can never even predict?
The sky is the tide that we as a controlled neutral subconscience have devised. The clouds are our elephants moving so slowly due to the contentment we have at looking up. A painting completed by billions of eyes in a skull, trained, fixated to the point at which we are happy to see it just as it is, or even more truthful, stuck in a gaze we think we cannot better or fix into something else. The rain as fast as cheetah's and sometimes with the venom of a King brown, it falls in relative direction to how we want to drown, fast, slow, or falling right off our backs.We go kicking into the mud, the ash and the dried up blood,spilling from our mouths air that fills the space either positive or
negative.
I am not content with this existence. I am not in control of the power that is inside me. I am completly hopeless to resist the person inside me who is pulling all my strings. I dance to his tune that is in a key my ears cannot possibly hear. Everyone dances with him whilst i dance alone. Around and around i go my own way, i go the way he wants me to go. I can feel him about to bring out the gong and play a rhythm inside
my skull, a rhythm i will never be able to fall out of step to. I am the empty space that is a result of him. I pray for deafness, i pray for blindness, i pray to never be able to speak again. All the while i continue to play dumb.

Are you kidding me?

reply to post by questcequecest


wow are you in my head !!!! most of time i have this kind of thinking !!!

we made a pact, one day we will meet again... we where next the big tree the red long grass was dancing in the hot wind and I saw the blue crystal lake and the red mountain, the two sun cross to make one and at that time of day the sky became purple, beautiful and unique ... a new sensation came over me something I had never felt before ... sadness ... I had to go far to learn ...my teatcher said this is an experience you had to live if you want learn more about the univers...i made the choice.
he was looking at me,shade leaves of the trees on his face made his eyes even bluer and he said with a smile one day I would come get you because you and I are united by this ties, you will not recognize me at first, but I'd be there, it will be at the beginning as an idea, a feeling, i watch from afar and when I come knocking at your door to tell you it's time to leave, you should be ready ...under the tree we close our eyes and we slept.
in the morning my teatcher give me his last words... and at this moment i was ready for the new world.

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reply to post by Truth1000


read ! this is short story... if Asimov was alive you will tell him also to not skip his meds ... this is a story, creativity... what's wrong with you people... and some one give you a star...i have the feeling that ATS became
a kindergarden .

reply to post by pitchdragon


Perhaps people find "art" in many ways, but this impresses me more as loose associative meanderings rather than cognitive thought.

reply to post by pitchdragon


just let it do what it wants, no point trying to control it!!
: )

reply to post by Truth1000


yeah its loose haha i dont have time to give it what it should hence the title of it. its a pet.

it's start to be very interesting !!

what is art ? this is my point of view and for me it's art, but you did not argue why this is not art for you, you just say he should not skip his meds, I may be wrong but it condescending, i 'm not trying to tell to follow my way but just to make it clear , when i read what he or she worte I find it very poetic, there is melancholy in his sentences...
but this is what i call the great adventure when you see just a bunch of words put side by side i see a great short story.

reply to post by pitchdragon


i suppose the meds do make it easy to handle the mundane but meh, im pretty sure those meds and his 'art' go hand in hand!!!

reply to post by questcequecest


je suis toute à fait d'accord avec toi