Post by waizac on Jul 26, 2010 16:17:00 GMT -5
Hey guys! I was on here for like, a second a couple of years ago, if anyone remembers. Anyway, I stumbled back upon this forum by means of a completely unrelated google search.
As there's a creative writing section, I thought that I may as post the first page of a short story I gave up on awhile ago.
I'd really appreciate any advice or comments, particularly on where I can go from here, I'm completely stumped.
Also whether you think I've made a good articulation of insanity.
Time, often people refer to it almost as an object or something with physical presence. "I need more time", "give me a minute" almost as if it was the clock itself, or an hour glass that can easily be tampered with.
I on the other hand view it as the passing of matter through space, so I suppose in a way an hour glass isn't completely wrong. Matter spends the majority of its existence floating around in a dusty or granular form, eventually it may collect and collect until it becomes a planet or a star.
After a short while it will cease to be a planet or a star and once again return to being a grain or a smothering of dust.
Seldom however do these grains of matter collect in a form that gains consciousness, seldom further do these grains gain everlasting consciousness, immortality.
...This collection of matter on the overhand has.
Now before I go on I must inform and appeal. Firstly to inform you that the rest of this story will be as factual or at least as scientifically theoretical as possible. Secondly to make an appeal to your imagination to generate a reason for a person's immortality and the way their body may work (As I won't be giving one) this is possibly a work of fiction after all.
Now moving away from the grains of matter and on to scolding hot grains of sand, ravaged by a long nuclear summer.
Somewhere atop this sand lays a molten globule of constantly generating and reforming, flesh.. At least I think there is, heheh. This is me, my body, no longer being mobile or even possessing the luxury of senses, I am only capable of thought. AHAHAHA my God what I'd give to see or hear ..anything, even pain! At least I would know I really exist, you never know this could all be an illusion; I may be a program on a computer somewhere, full of functions and fake memories AHAHAHA!
Ahem, but I diverge, "non angli sed angli!" what I want to tell you my fickle, fickle, non existing friend is the technique I adopt for keeping oneself sane whilst matter moves through space.
This technique is story telling, MY story to be exact, remembering, mulling over, my autobiography to be exact-exact.
Although one day it will probably be solely comprised of this pitiful senseless existence, the human hard-drive can only carry so much y'know!
None the less I always start from where I remember it beginning, and YOU my matey matey have just caught me at the thrilling beginning if you are willing to hear, of course you are! "Whoever neglects learning in his youth loses the Past, and is dead to the Future".
Obviously no one can remember every single second of their life in one smooth motion, however my life has endured long enough to gain enough memorable moments adequate of a story.
As there's a creative writing section, I thought that I may as post the first page of a short story I gave up on awhile ago.
I'd really appreciate any advice or comments, particularly on where I can go from here, I'm completely stumped.
Also whether you think I've made a good articulation of insanity.
Time, often people refer to it almost as an object or something with physical presence. "I need more time", "give me a minute" almost as if it was the clock itself, or an hour glass that can easily be tampered with.
I on the other hand view it as the passing of matter through space, so I suppose in a way an hour glass isn't completely wrong. Matter spends the majority of its existence floating around in a dusty or granular form, eventually it may collect and collect until it becomes a planet or a star.
After a short while it will cease to be a planet or a star and once again return to being a grain or a smothering of dust.
Seldom however do these grains of matter collect in a form that gains consciousness, seldom further do these grains gain everlasting consciousness, immortality.
...This collection of matter on the overhand has.
Now before I go on I must inform and appeal. Firstly to inform you that the rest of this story will be as factual or at least as scientifically theoretical as possible. Secondly to make an appeal to your imagination to generate a reason for a person's immortality and the way their body may work (As I won't be giving one) this is possibly a work of fiction after all.
Now moving away from the grains of matter and on to scolding hot grains of sand, ravaged by a long nuclear summer.
Somewhere atop this sand lays a molten globule of constantly generating and reforming, flesh.. At least I think there is, heheh. This is me, my body, no longer being mobile or even possessing the luxury of senses, I am only capable of thought. AHAHAHA my God what I'd give to see or hear ..anything, even pain! At least I would know I really exist, you never know this could all be an illusion; I may be a program on a computer somewhere, full of functions and fake memories AHAHAHA!
Ahem, but I diverge, "non angli sed angli!" what I want to tell you my fickle, fickle, non existing friend is the technique I adopt for keeping oneself sane whilst matter moves through space.
This technique is story telling, MY story to be exact, remembering, mulling over, my autobiography to be exact-exact.
Although one day it will probably be solely comprised of this pitiful senseless existence, the human hard-drive can only carry so much y'know!
None the less I always start from where I remember it beginning, and YOU my matey matey have just caught me at the thrilling beginning if you are willing to hear, of course you are! "Whoever neglects learning in his youth loses the Past, and is dead to the Future".
Obviously no one can remember every single second of their life in one smooth motion, however my life has endured long enough to gain enough memorable moments adequate of a story.