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just_writingThis is my first post in this journal, please don't judge my whole writing by this one post. I was reading some of these creations and began to feel settled in the state of mind which I find ideal for writing. So I opened word and just began to type. This is a very strange... I don't even know what to call it. It is simply a sparatic creation that I made and I am still myself unsure what I think of it... any input?
Still is everything around me. Still is the water that crashes between my toes that have disrupted the ease in the soggy sand. Still are the birds as they slice through the see-through clouds, aiming, then diving for clams. Still are my eyes, soaking up this damp scene, with the birds and the water diving at once towards me. Split in two, my eyes only become one as I center on this thought; I am not still. I remain paralyzed by the thought of failure that runs through my brain, as a seagull successfully clutches a clam. I realize now that still as the world may be, I am not. Still as you may seem, you are not. Our hearts may flutter, our eyes may wander, our toes may dive beneath the crust of God’s land, but our minds are paralyzed.
When we walk we seem still… walking to their beat, it is when we skip that we throw off their rhythm. When we sit we are still… crouching down to their level. It is when we stand that we fall. Raise your thoughts, yet you will be defeated. Raise your thoughts, and soon they will be defeated. Life begins to end when we become still about the things that matter.
Stormy is everything within me. Stormy is my blood, crashing through my veins that I have asserted through the clenching of my fists. Stormy is my hair, whipping and lashing my face; sticking to my lips as they scream betrayal. Stormy are my eyes. Stormy is my voice. Stormy is my mind. Each gushes; each oozes deception that was once inhaled from the still surrounding me. Rampaging thoughts bombard my brain, tearing my mind in two, thoughts of anarchy, thoughts of nihilism, thoughts of death. Away from the still is the stormy. Inside my soul I breed the rain. I rise from defeat, and feed from those fallen before. You rise from defeat, and feed from those fallen before.
The storm surge sparks the mind. The rain nurtures… feeds the thoughts that grow from the still. Outside it is raining, inside we’re not complaining. When we march we seem still, then we foxtrot and throw off their rhythm. Life begins to end when we become still about the things that matter.
Life begins for them when we become still about the things that matter.
Still is everything around me. Still is the water that crashes between my toes that have disrupted the ease in the soggy sand. Still are the birds as they slice through the see-through clouds, aiming, then diving for clams. Still are my eyes, soaking up this damp scene, with the birds and the water diving at once towards me. Split in two, my eyes only become one as I center on this thought; I am not still. I remain paralyzed by the thought of failure that runs through my brain, as a seagull successfully clutches a clam. I realize now that still as the world may be, I am not. Still as you may seem, you are not. Our hearts may flutter, our eyes may wander, our toes may dive beneath the crust of God’s land, but our minds are paralyzed.
When we walk we seem still… walking to their beat, it is when we skip that we throw off their rhythm. When we sit we are still… crouching down to their level. It is when we stand that we fall. Raise your thoughts, yet you will be defeated. Raise your thoughts, and soon they will be defeated. Life begins to end when we become still about the things that matter.
Stormy is everything within me. Stormy is my blood, crashing through my veins that I have asserted through the clenching of my fists. Stormy is my hair, whipping and lashing my face; sticking to my lips as they scream betrayal. Stormy are my eyes. Stormy is my voice. Stormy is my mind. Each gushes; each oozes deception that was once inhaled from the still surrounding me. Rampaging thoughts bombard my brain, tearing my mind in two, thoughts of anarchy, thoughts of nihilism, thoughts of death. Away from the still is the stormy. Inside my soul I breed the rain. I rise from defeat, and feed from those fallen before. You rise from defeat, and feed from those fallen before.
The storm surge sparks the mind. The rain nurtures… feeds the thoughts that grow from the still. Outside it is raining, inside we’re not complaining. When we march we seem still, then we foxtrot and throw off their rhythm. Life begins to end when we become still about the things that matter.
Life begins for them when we become still about the things that matter.
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Date: 2003-09-26 02:23 am (UTC)However I would suggest reviewing to simplify it. but then I can't write long to save my life so what do I know!
Frinstance Still is the water that crashes between my toes that have disrupted the ease in the soggy sand I would perhaps have in two clauses.
Rampaging thoughts bombard my brain, tearing my mind in two, thoughts of anarchy, thoughts of nihilism, thoughts of death. I would take out everything past the word two.
This of course does not mean that you have to.
I am also intrigued by what Sparatic means - cos I have never heard it before (Or did you mean sporadic? - if so not trying to be sarky).
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Date: 2003-09-26 04:12 pm (UTC)thanks for the feedback