At 12/13/05 09:47 PM, deathtuna wrote: Hey, I don't know if any of you remember me, I used to be a member of this club. Myst probably remembers me...
Yes, I do. I think your name is what makes you so easy to remember... 'deathtuna' how can I forget that. lol. Welcome back! = )
At 12/13/05 04:09 PM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote: It's in Gums Sig for future reference :-)
Thanks.
At 12/13/05 05:39 PM, Gamehippy wrote: Hehe. I made the first sig for your club to promote here. I was one of the first of your first few members here. I submitted alot of peices to my manuscript - but now I have many more surpises.
Shit, thats crazy. That was a while back. I look forward to these surprises.
At 12/13/05 02:16 PM, Gamehippy wrote: Am I still remembered and welcomed?
Always welcome.
C'mon you must remember me :P
I recognize your name... not sure from where exactly. Its wierd... I remember, but I dont. I cant put any writing to your name anyway.
At 12/13/05 03:37 PM, -Doctor_Claus- wrote: Um, like, you?
Finally! No one has been waiting too long I hope.
OMGZWTFLOLBBQ
And uh... where is that link to that site that I can use to catch up on?
At 12/13/05 02:11 PM, Myst_Williams wrote: Shit, did I miss the deadline?
damn exams.
Oh, I thought it said 12th... not 12th to 16th... man I am tired.
Well, here is mine:
(it is as much about death as it is the metaphor)
Wakeful
with a barrel
between your teeth
death is the hostage
and you are the negotiator
of breath or release
everything moulds
without sleep
Poems:
Wakeful
with a barrel
between your teeth
death is the hostage
and you are the negotiator
of breath or release
everything moulds
without sleep
haiku i
an eastern bluebird,
he plays
under the willow
Even a Cue
you can conceive your child
thin paint drips down the canvas
beside the sun, and along the lines
of the elaborate buildings. Each structure
drowns in the glare of the city, and causes
underwater suffrage in a frosty pool
table with wallet snatching antics
that colours every pair in a spouse deciding way.
the fan is gentle in the hair of the people
on the harbour at the bay. The frightened
groomsman cue wishes that plastic
was not the substance that summed
the leaf skimmer’s shaft – who is blessed
by the heat of the sun each day, and melts
the paint and drowns the buildings.
So, whos turn is it on the collab? Did I miss anything exciting (you know your tired and lazy when you won't even read a page and a half)...
Poems:
Wakeful
with a barrel
between your teeth
death is the hostage
and you are the negotiator
of breath or release
everything moulds
without sleep
haiku i
an eastern bluebird,
he plays
under the willow
Even a Cue
you can conceive your child
thin paint drips down the canvas
beside the sun, and along the lines
of the elaborate buildings. Each structure
drowns in the glare of the city, and causes
underwater suffrage in a frosty pool
table with wallet snatching antics
that colours every pair in a spouse deciding way.
the fan is gentle in the hair of the people
on the harbour at the bay. The frightened
groomsman cue wishes that plastic
was not the substance that summed
the leaf skimmer’s shaft – who is blessed
by the heat of the sun each day, and melts
the paint and drowns the buildings.
Shit, did I miss the deadline?
damn exams.
I have exams this week. Will be back next weekend....
... for all those wondering where I dissappeared to.
At 11/29/05 07:45 PM, Andersson wrote: Haha, I was going to say "Alot of good poetry" but I then got the idea of making this little competition to make the General forum section more attractive. ;-)
Ya, its an awesome idea. I already submitted. ; )
At 11/29/05 05:16 PM, Andersson wrote: However, I am just saying hey and checking how everything is going, and damn that was alot of poetry Myst_Williams. ;-)
Alot of GOOD poetry... heh... okay... maybe not... but experimental poetry doesnt have to be good.
Hehe. =)
= )
Here are my two:
Even After (the periods represent spaces... see links)
If ever I am needed . . . . to tend to the sick
revenge the defeated . . . . in sickness or death
pray by a bedside . . . . return mid-pith
request for a favor . . . . find the bright light
stop the rain and tide . . . . kiss a forehead
consider the plight . . . . change an outcome
catch all the sadness . . . . plague the wicked
or exist by your side . . . . my spirit will arrive
in templar pace haste . . . . to be by your side.
Arms Length But More
“Weeping tree of slender arms,
do you speak the tongue of volume?
For I, a man, have had the length
to reach and touch, but not handle.”
Above the crier, there sings a choir
of twenty or more beaked felons,
and with their song, travels long arms
that swing and sway with Marion.
“I see you there, an arm away.
Why can’t you be my partner?
I sit here dear, awaiting my chance
To reach and steal from under.”
Hold my leave. Not others.
To see the poems the way they are meant to be seen (layout and all)... visit the links below.
At 11/29/05 03:25 PM, Mick_the_champion wrote: One we had to do at college was write a monologue as an object of some sort e.g. pencil, knife, light .etc. - and you only reveal what the object is on the last sentence.
Sounds cool. I might give that a go. It depends when I get my Art History final done. Art history essays are a bitch...
School is driving me nuts, I have to say. But my novel has made durastic changes... my biased eyes like where it is going. It has changes so much. It isnt even pop fiction anymore. Wierd.
At 11/28/05 01:21 PM, Myst_Williams wrote: http://www.psychics...ictests/mindread.htm
haha, I figured it out. Tell me if you did. Stupid tricky program. Pfft. It almost had me convinced.
I am freaking out. there is this little game where this program reads your mind on this site. I took the test 8 times, 8 different thoughts, 8 different outcomes... and the damn thing was right everytime.
I can't stump it.
People, go to the webpage below and tell me if it read your mind accurately too.
At 11/27/05 02:24 PM, DirtySyko wrote: Any ideas of what I should do? Should I continue to stay on my break and wait for the desire to write to return?
Well if you have the ideas, and it is just that motivation you are missing. I advise one of two things:
1) Don't force it. Wait it out. Maybe there is some odd reason why you havnt had the will, and until it passes you won't be able to write comforatbly, so why make things difficult.
2) Find what it is that inspires you. When I have that problem. I listen to a certain kind of music, or watch my favourite movies. That usually has me motivated to do something just as amazing as that artist did, even if it is a totally different concept or genre than the inspiration.
At 11/26/05 06:41 PM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote: Agnostics are people who do not think that ther eis anough evidenc eto prove that there isn't or there is a god.
Well that is a variant of Agnoticism. An Agnostic can also beleive that we has humans do not have the capacity or ability to understand if there is or isnt a God (which is similar, but slightly different). But that doesnt mean we can't beleive that there actually is a higher power.
I beleive there is a god... I just dont feel any religion out there is 100% correct. But I am still Agnostic.
At 11/26/05 06:14 PM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote: Considering there is a discussion on Buddishm going on in here, I was curious as to what you thought about this story about a boy in the Nepalese jungle who is supposed to be the reincarnation of The Buddha himself.
Only link I can find :-(
I find it fishy that they put up a screen at night and then claim he hasnt eaten in six months, though, it would be a very cool thing if it were very true. I would convert. haha.
At 11/26/05 06:14 PM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote: Anyway, I wish to join. As for my personal beleifs, I am an agnostic although latley I've started thinking that the probability of their being a Creator is greater than the probability of there not being one.
That is basically what Agnoticism is. Or I read that wrong...
At 11/26/05 06:18 PM, Velocitom wrote: I seem to remember a club like this, with the discussion of serious religious debate.
It only lasted (and I believe Myst knows about it) a couple pages, but since it seems to be inactive I will come in here once in awhile and debate, I have been looking for a place to have some serious discussions.
Ya, it collapsed because of the somewhat demanding rules and the lack of the creator. He never posted again. this one seems to be going quite well though. TheDoctor always has my support.
At 11/26/05 04:54 PM, DancingTurkeyGod wrote: I didn't mean crazy as in insane, but more in the slang way of saying "cool" (c'mon, walking on water IS pretty cool). I'm sorry and I didn't mean it to be insulting. I'll watch out about how I'm describing things from now on and try to remain (relatively) intelligent.
Oh.. I got you. Sorry, people don't use crazy in that context around here. And I wasn't actually insulted, I was just stating so that you knew that it could be seen as insulting... but I didnt realize you meant it in another way.
Or the church is hiding everything. CONSPIRACY! No but seriously. Some say it's rumors, some say it's the church hiding the evidence so it doesn't confuse people. I think it's a mix of both. The Catholic church DOES have a lot of power, and they definately wouldn't want to introduce doubt into their religious teachings/stories.
I guess, but that in itself would be going against their own teachings... hypocricy isn't in the ten commandments. lol. I think speculations are just speculations, but everyone has their own opinion.
I do believe it says she's a virgin in the bible, but yes, it changes their views more than anything.
Ya, "Immaculate Conception" virgin upon Jusus' birth. It doesnt mean she didnt hit the shack afterwards haha... so most sects wouldnt change.
Part of the problem is that too many people follow these stories word for word, instead of understanding the morals and values that these stories are preaching.
I agree. I happen to beleive the bible is a series of philosophical concepts expressed in fictional prose by some genious of that time. And the re-counts of Jesus may be partially accurate, but I dont feel fully and were meant to spread love and a positive way of life. Or... he actually thought he was Gods son. Who knows really... but Judas.
I actually heard that in those times, if you had sex on a certain day, it was allowed and thus you remained a "virgin". Hence why Mary was still a virgin at the time that Jesus was born.
Hmm... never heard that.
At 11/26/05 03:43 PM, DancingTurkeyGod wrote: Or that he walked on water....or anything other of those CRAZY super powers.
I am not even christian, and I would not go so far as to say it is crazy. If I was christain, I would probably be insulted.
He apparently also had a brother.
People spread things like that on false information and odd interpretation all the time. Mary Magdaline (spelling?) isn't considered to be a service lady anymore either, but no one can actually say. Some say Jesus had kids with Mary, but all of this is even less accurate than the bible, because at least the bible is written historic text.
This discovery was all "hush-hush" because that would go against the bible...or something like that.
I don't think it would go against anything in the bible, except change the views of catholicism slightly, as they beleive Mary was all pure, but it could be meant as all pure before and during Jesus' conception.
At 11/26/05 04:01 PM, HeartbreakHoldout wrote: Don't take this as my personal opinion, but my former RE teacher said that Buddhism isn't actually a religion, its just a belief. Her reason for this is that she says Buddhism doesn't actually have a God...
In my opinion, religion has nothing to do with whether there is a God or not, but that is my opinion. It is the beleif and faith in something associated with teachings and a way of life. So I would certainly consider it a religion
At 11/26/05 01:23 PM, -TheDoctor- wrote: Hey guys, some of you may have noticed I just started a theology club (link in sig), so it seems that here is as good a place as any to whore it out to any of you people interested in religion (or a lack thereof).
I love world beliefs and discussing/debating them. I already posted man. = )
At 11/26/05 11:06 AM, Kei_Kurono wrote: ok,i dont believe my god (christ) is real.
I just wanted to point out to you that there is proof that Jesus existed. There are many documents and artifacts from that time. Also, the artwork of the eras that reflect it.
The only lacking proof is finding his exact corpse... no one really can decipher that. And the fact that no one knows if he actually was the son of God. However, it is proven that Jesus Joseph (aka Jesus Christ) did exist and was a spiritual leader, the biggest of his time.
I am Agnostic, but grew up in a Catholic home. I studied World Religions for a couple years, and have a strong interest. Well, to be accurate, I studied World Beleifs, as not everything we studied was a 'religion' per say.
If anyone is wondering Agnosticism is a belief that implies that it is impossible to know whether there is a God. Though my specific beliefs are a little different, basically I believe that there is a greater power, it is just that we, as humans, don’t have the capacity to ever fully understand it. My littler self beleif, that is by all means not common to Agnoticism is that I beleive... well, here is a little quotse I say to help explain:
"No one knows anything. Everyone knows Nothing." - Me
Religion to me is simply a community of common thought. Where faith is the individual connection to that common thought. If you are religious, you believe in something within a community of people who have the same belief. If you have faith, then you have a connection with what it is you believe, and have dedicated yourself to that common thought, but on an individual, personal, and sometimes more detailed level.
Faith and belief are similar in the way that the belief is represented, but are different in opinion. Some followers may have a more conservative belief, while others a more contemporary in their faith, but could be following the same religion within the same community of believers.
To further elabortae: I am not religious, but I have faith - faith that there is a greater power, and something beyond death, but I don’t follow any specific religion, because I don’t believe that anybody out there has it, for lack of a better phrase, spot on.
At 11/26/05 01:18 PM, _Shadowed_ wrote: good poems man, whats your inspiration?
Everything, I guess. I do not have one sinpiration. Sometimes music, sometimes movies, sometimes other literacy, sometimes dreasm, sometimes things that happen to me... or sometimes... eratc thoughts... heh... w/e works.
At 11/26/05 10:04 AM, Coop83 wrote: Myst, calm down.
Cn't *panickly shakes* <_< >_> <_<
I am reeling from this broadside of peotry my eyes have been bombarded with.
Sorry... were any of them at least good? hehe = )
Where are we upto on the collab?
Mick still I beleive.
At 11/25/05 06:23 PM, DancingTurkeyGod wrote: I know. That part was more of a joke...
C'mon, who is gonna take that sentence seriously?
ahah gotcha...
Wow, you're one of the few Canadians that is proud of that. Have you been to Montreal before?
Yes, I have. I like it. Though, I love quebec city.
Oh, and just because you grew up in Montreal it doesn't mean you know French. I have a few friends like that...They stayed in the West Island and now can't uphold any conversation in French (nor really understand when I speak to them in that language).
I never said I knew french. I said several times that I havnt been fluent for years... the only reason I brought it up was because you said to ask a quebecer... which my father is, in a sense.
At 11/25/05 06:30 PM, DancingTurkeyGod wrote: I basically said: "Let's heat up the room with erotic sex." But it was in a really, really corny way.
ya, that is what I got from it.
I truly believe this translation is a lost cause, haha
haha, ya...
like... lets raise the temperature of the room while having sex... or something... I cant figure out what yours precisely said... its bugg me...
though, I have come up with a solution...
We could just say "Lets have excellent sex" ... that would save a lot of work.
At 11/25/05 06:08 PM, DancingTurkeyGod wrote: "Faisons monter la température de la pièce avec du sex érotique ."
hmmm.... the second half makes sense, but the first is throwing me off...
it isnt to rise the tempertaure with sex... which may be the literal case, but not the way to say it. Unless you're very taditional haha...
and ya, I figured steam would not work i nthe context, thus my first attempt a translation didnt have it.
and whats funny... is my father spent his childhood in Montreal... which makes him a partial quebecer... and me one... = )
More poetry:
Vocation: Writer
the fireplace of my abode
and the turning of the flames
bring the heat for tomorrow
like the powder of tonight
the leisure of my divan
and rejection of my peripheral
bring discovery for my centre
like the passing of fantasy
the molding of my hand
and the birth of the vision
bring a lifetime of fulfillment
like the conception of Christ
but I Just want to write.
Even After (the periods would be spaces)
If ever I am needed . . . . . to tend to the sick
revenge the defeated . . . . . in sickness or death
pray by a bedside . . . . . return mid-pith
request for a favor . . . . . find the bright light
stop the rain and tide . . . . . kiss a forehead
consider the plight . . . . . change an outcome
catch all the sadness . . . . . plague the wicked
or exist by your side . . . . . my spirit will arrive
in templar pace haste . . . . . to be by your side.
Drive Away
“What can I get you, sir?” the lady asks.
The man faces her, eyeing waist to brow
“Tea to start. I am awaiting company.”
She nods and strides to the back,
But as she steps behind the door
Her gaze grasps his appearance also.
His short, dark hair is perfectly trimmed,
His face smoothly shaven,
His suit a stark black, and his white shirt clean.
His deep green eyes look up at her,
She quickly closes the restricted door.
Our well-kept man grabs his leather briefcase.
Placing it on the busy table with a peek inside,
He glances towards the men’s washroom.
He leaves the briefcase on his seat,
And walks towards the marked door.
He opens the entry slightly,
Presses his face against the wooden grain,
And takes a peek inside.
The reflection in the mirrors says no one is there.
The young waitress walks out from the back,
And he grabs her, bringing her into the washroom.
He locks the door and lifts her onto the counter.
His lips meet her neck.
His hands slide up her waist under her shirt.
The shirt hits the floor.
She kisses him harder - their tongues collide.
His soft lips run over her collarbone and shoulder.
Her hand runs over his pants.
She moans and pants. Her bare back against the wall.
Her legs wrapped around him. She wants more.
Through the hallway and out onto the floor
The briefcase has disappeared.
A blonde haired woman crosses the street,
And jumps into her sports car.
The package is on the leather passenger seat.
She drives towards the lights.
Of all nights, this is the one she chose.
She fixates her sunglasses,
And she stops on signal, “fuck.”
Through her rear view, the van breaks.
A masked man gets out of the side door.
He walks towards the car. The female is startled.
His finger suggests, and she hands him the parcel.
Rubber on tar, the scream calls,
And in the back seat, the briefcase is opened.
Six eyes watch the black mask of the man
Dazzle in lights of many colours.
The briefcase is closed, “identified.”
“Good. Four more blocks,” the driver answers.
He grabs his cell phone from his jacket pocket,
And dials the number from his memory.
“We have it. Delivery is on schedule.”
A dark, rusty voice is heard, and considered.
Four blocks pass.
The van pulls up into the parking space.
The thief gets out, package in hand.
Though the commercial building says Closed,
The door opens, and new hands take on the task.
The male, in his workplace, sits beside his subordinate
And then he asks, “What time is the courier coming?”
“Few minutes,” is the quick reply. The fat man scrambles.
A honk is heard as bright lights impede on the glass.
The door opens, and the parcel is grabbed off the floor.
It is placed beside the driver in the front, not the back.
Another drive at night. Another delivery.
The woman moans our fine character’s name.
A cry for the lust he provides.
The cell phone rings. In time, she answers.
The words of the dialer cannot be heard.
“Thanks. I appreciate the call,” she finishes,
“I have to get back to work,” she looks at him.
He smiles. They kiss. He leaves the washroom.
He sits down at his table. She brings his tea.
He enjoys his meal and leaves with a number.
Almost forgetting his briefcase, he turns back.
Picking it up, he travels to his car. He drives away.
Somewhere in the city a cell phone is hung up.
The officer looks at his watch, and turns on the news.
Reporters cage the country’s leader.
He speaks his mind, and says what is best for his people.
The reporters outbid for attention.
The officer’s child sits on his lap.
His darling wife is in the kitchen.
His daughter, finally home from work, enters the home.
His phone vibrates. He looks at his watch once more.
“The country, no, the world, stands at attention.”
Silence heads. People stop. Cars glide.
More poetry:
Vocation: Writer
the fireplace of my abode
and the turning of the flames
bring the heat for tomorrow
like the powder of tonight
the leisure of my divan
and rejection of my peripheral
bring discovery for my centre
like the passing of fantasy
the molding of my hand
and the birth of the vision
bring a lifetime of fulfillment
like the conception of Christ
but I Just want to write.
Even After (the periods would be spaces)
If ever I am needed . . . . . to tend to the sick
revenge the defeated . . . . . in sickness or death
pray by a bedside . . . . . return mid-pith
request for a favor . . . . . find the bright light
stop the rain and tide . . . . . kiss a forehead
consider the plight . . . . . change an outcome
catch all the sadness . . . . . plague the wicked
or exist by your side . . . . . my spirit will arrive
in templar pace haste . . . . . to be by your side.
Drive Away
“What can I get you, sir?” the lady asks.
The man faces her, eyeing waist to brow
“Tea to start. I am awaiting company.”
She nods and strides to the back,
But as she steps behind the door
Her gaze grasps his appearance also.
His short, dark hair is perfectly trimmed,
His face smoothly shaven,
His suit a stark black, and his white shirt clean.
His deep green eyes look up at her,
She quickly closes the restricted door.
Our well-kept man grabs his leather briefcase.
Placing it on the busy table with a peek inside,
He glances towards the men’s washroom.
He leaves the briefcase on his seat,
And walks towards the marked door.
He opens the entry slightly,
Presses his face against the wooden grain,
And takes a peek inside.
The reflection in the mirrors says no one is there.
The young waitress walks out from the back,
And he grabs her, bringing her into the washroom.
He locks the door and lifts her onto the counter.
His lips meet her neck.
His hands slide up her waist under her shirt.
The shirt hits the floor.
She kisses him harder - their tongues collide.
His soft lips run over her collarbone and shoulder.
Her hand runs over his pants.
She moans and pants. Her bare back against the wall.
Her legs wrapped around him. She wants more.
Through the hallway and out onto the floor
The briefcase has disappeared.
A blonde haired woman crosses the street,
And jumps into her sports car.
The package is on the leather passenger seat.
She drives towards the lights.
Of all nights, this is the one she chose.
She fixates her sunglasses,
And she stops on signal, “fuck.”
Through her rear view, the van breaks.
A masked man gets out of the side door.
He walks towards the car. The female is startled.
His finger suggests, and she hands him the parcel.
Rubber on tar, the scream calls,
And in the back seat, the briefcase is opened.
Six eyes watch the black mask of the man
Dazzle in lights of many colours.
The briefcase is closed, “identified.”
“Good. Four more blocks,” the driver answers.
He grabs his cell phone from his jacket pocket,
And dials the number from his memory.
“We have it. Delivery is on schedule.”
A dark, rusty voice is heard, and considered.
Four blocks pass.
The van pulls up into the parking space.
The thief gets out, package in hand.
Though the commercial building says Closed,
The door opens, and new hands take on the task.
The male, in his workplace, sits beside his subordinate
And then he asks, “What time is the courier coming?”
“Few minutes,” is the quick reply. The fat man scrambles.
A honk is heard as bright lights impede on the glass.
The door opens, and the parcel is grabbed off the floor.
It is placed beside the driver in the front, not the back.
Another drive at night. Another delivery.
The woman moans our fine character’s name.
A cry for the lust he provides.
The cell phone rings. In time, she answers.
The words of the dialer cannot be heard.
“Thanks. I appreciate the call,” she finishes,
“I have to get back to work,” she looks at him.
He smiles. They kiss. He leaves the washroom.
He sits down at his table. She brings his tea.
He enjoys his meal and leaves with a number.
Almost forgetting his briefcase, he turns back.
Picking it up, he travels to his car. He drives away.
Somewhere in the city a cell phone is hung up.
The officer looks at his watch, and turns on the news.
Reporters cage the country’s leader.
He speaks his mind, and says what is best for his people.
The reporters outbid for attention.
The officer’s child sits on his lap.
His darling wife is in the kitchen.
His daughter, finally home from work, enters the home.
His phone vibrates. He looks at his watch once more.
“The country, no, the world, stands at attention.”
Silence heads. People stop. Cars glide.
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