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This is a discussion on Take ten minutes and just... write within the The Art Museum forums, part of the Topics of Interest category; 10 minutes? Okie dokie. I want to shine my inner light on other people. I want to bring smiles to ...

  1. #711

    10 minutes?
    Okie dokie.

    I want to shine my inner light on other people. I want to bring smiles to peoples faces instead of being gloomy all the time. Im still not sure how to do this, though. I tried complimenting people, but one person thought I was talking about clothes they sell at the store. I thought she had heard something VERY wrong for a second because of the face that she made. Its so sad, when I make these attempts, and people just brush them right off. I pour so much of myself into trying to make the world a cheerier place and they just look dead inside. My aunt said that sometimes people just dont want to laugh.. surely theyd like to smile, though?
    I would like to see more smiles.
    Darn it, I have to listen to my aunts youtube video while I try to type this out. I give up. Whoops, time is up anyway. Good day.
    Oh, nevermind, I started early. LOL.
    Ok... a few more minutes..

    so my sense of time is wonky. Wackiness. Thats something Johnny the Homicidal Maniac hates. The word wacky. Im rushing now. Heh. Okay.. so I was focused on business today. Id love to earn a living doing business. Its so refreshing to enterprise with other people. I wonder what my aunts video is about. It sounds interesting. I hear music. I want to watch a Ted Talk suddenly. Lol. Why is it called Ted Talk, anyway? My attention span is so sad.. Must.... focus... argh..... nooooooooooooo. Okay. One more minute. I like people. Thank you for existing people. Youre awesome. Bye now.
    kcsunsh1ne thanked this post.

  2. #712

    Okay - I work for a Public Library system in Colorado and drive 45 to 60 minutes each way, each day. I mention this because I want to share a novel I just finished listening to. The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek by Kim Michele Richardson. Interesting because it brings together a government program created to put people to work after the depression, interesting people from 1940s Kentucky (just found that I had ancestors who settled there... before moving on), a love of books and the dynamics of race relations, poverty and perseverance. I didn't think I would like it at first but it is really well written. It doesn't have anything to do with personality types, that is unless you want to type the characters... hmmm, that might be fun. If you are looking for a good read... it's a good one. I am an enneagram type 9 so I like to escape into good stories. Time's up.

  3. #713

    I was just thinking how my SO said she loves seeing my heart again, and I feel compelled to write something that shows it, in its entirety. The love that overflows and pours out, the overwhelming sappiness that I try to reign in because I know it's been off putting in the past. I don't want to keep my love and affection contained anymore. I want to feel it, bathe in it, drown it, become one with it.

    And truth of the matter is, this new friendship I've made has opened my heart in ways I never realized were possible. It feels like a love, a deep love, a fantasy romance that I wish could materialize into something real, but my brain knows that it never will. But I can accept this, the love I feel for him, the ways in which my heart wants so deeply to be wrapped around his. Or even on a physical level; he was going through a rough time one night and asked me to stay. We fell asleep in each other's arms, and I remember taking note of how warm and electric his body felt against mine. I had never wanted to melt into someone else so badly. I just wanted to stay wrapped inside his energy forever. And I remember shivering slightly when he gently rubbed my back, and I realized that can't be a normal, platonic reaction and was hoping he didn't notice. And the way he brushed my hair away from my forehead when we woke up, the heat in his fingertips is embedded in me, and I know it shouldn't be.

    But I found myself wondering what kissing him would feel like, touching him intimately, having him inside me. And I'm not typically a physical person, hell, I don't even experience sexual attraction like most people. But there's something there with him that I can't define or explain. Something in his energy, his touch, the way he makes me feel. I have never felt more safe and comfortable with anyone. Why is this a thing with someone I just started connecting with on a friendship level? We're both involved with other people, and I really don't think he has these feelings for me. I don't think he takes in our moments or words or touches the way I do.

    My heart feels like it's going to burst, I love him so much. I even have tears in my eyes as I write this, because it scares me to imagine what my life would be like without this intense feeling, without this beautiful friendship I've formed with one of the most beautiful minds I've ever seen And that's how it started; I fell in love with his mind. He's such a loving, genuine, heartfelt, rational, analytical, intelligent mind, and he sees the world differently - he's perceptive, even something so simple to the average person, he turns into an entire lesson; like how he took note of a bird perched on the top of the bench we sat on made me want to appreciate nature, how he stated so matter-of-factly when I told him I was an empath that we are made of energy, so it's understandable. How beautifully he combines rationality with sensitivity. How childlike he is, how he finds joy in the simplest things, like games or Pokemon hunting, which I hated until him and I started playing together.

    My question is though, why do I feel so strongly for someone I barely know? Someone who's only meant to be a friend. Why does my heart fly every time I let someone new inside it? It's not supposed to feel like this every single time. And I always say "oh this is the first time I've ever felt this way" but logically I know it's not. I know I've felt this way before with a different person, but it always feels like the first time. Either way, I want to revel in this, I want to live inside this beautiful, freeing feeling that I can only describe as love, even if that's not what it is. I don't want this bubble to pop, and I know it will eventually. I know he'll fall from the unsteady pedestal I've placed him on. People always do, they never stay where you place them, they never stay as you want them to. I've molded this piece of art in my mind, and it's something I always do when I idealize you.
    Last edited by Gabrielle Hope; 08-23-2019 at 02:43 PM. Reason: Starting editing, then realized I can flesh out my ideas and turn them into a story that hopefully someone will want to read.
    Aridela thanked this post.

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  5. #714

    Laughter is the best medicine.. oh, before I forget, writing fiction stories works like molding clay. I wonder if I can write a story in 10 minutes that describes the concept of laughter is the best medicine.
    First of all, whats funny, though? I lack skills in that area, or at least I feel like I do.
    Maybe my pain is humorous, this dumb fly is trying to distract me right now. I want to swat it, but Ill end up breaking stuff.. Okay, I have an idea now.
    General Grievious was trying to swat a fly that was in his home, but he ended up breaking everything in the house to try to get to it. then the fly got away anyways. So general grievous couldnt even catch a fly.
    Okay, am I allowed to laugh, because.. well.. that tickled me. Isnt laughter contagious? So that if I laugh at a joke, no matter how dumb it is, other people will laugh at it too? Or are they laughing at me? Either way, if theyre laughing, mission accomplished, right?
    I wrote a story that was in summary form. How do I grow my story? I would really like to work on my interpersonal skills so I can hold up a good dialogue. Ack, argh rooooaaaaar is all I can think of because I dont know how General Grievous speaks, really. Was that a dumb fan-fiction I wrote? If so, I am VERY proud of myself. ^_^ I havent written a terrible fan-fiction in years, I need to write more of that genre. I dont get as much written in 10 minutes as I had hoped I would.

  6. #715

    Music playing in the background. Writing for academia feels like pulling teeth. By contrast, any other form of expression flows with such ease; expressing oneself through words - I wonder how it came to be. Who was the first human who decided writing stuff down would be a good idea? I bet it served a practical purpose at first, and then, gradually, lonely human beings like this one, decided the page (the screen in this case) would make a good friend - one who really listens.
    Hypaspist, Gabrielle Hope and rwekcouyrayd thanked this post.

  7. #716

    Very well - where do we begin?

    And no - I am certainly not referring to "when does life start? In the womb, at the conception, once you are 18 years old, once you have freed yourself from all the earthly burdens that come naturally to the natural dimension's inhabitants" but more into the direction of "when did I come to the conscious thought of whether I am alive or not?".

    Was it me who had that thought or was it implanted into me by the evil-doing of a great heavenly ruler of all things, and yes, I do mean 'evil-doer' because who and for what purpose with their screws just attached right to their head would bring doom upon their creation by giving it doubt about its existence or an alien from far, far away (which, as should be noted, is basically the exact same thing as the evil-doing creator mentioned before) or is it just the price of being human?

    May hell rain down on who gave life a price-tag without mentioning it before; there must be a law against breaking a contract by not informing the customer - yes, this is dedicated to you so please listen for once, unlike at school were you dwiddled and dwaddled with everything else your mind wanted to distract you with - about certain points regarding the purchase of the product, technically making it 1st illegal and 2nd the seller responsible for fixing the "mistake" they made.

    Well, if it is a seller. Who knows - well, certainly neither you or me or probably or possibly or rather hopefully; but to our limited conscious knowledge we do not know for sure whether this "seller" might be just a regular seller or some kind of merchant, hopping from universe to universe, intelligent lifeform (not referring to you but actually intelligent human beings right now) to intelligent lifeform or maybe even from reality to reality and giving out the present of consciousness for the small price of doubt.

    But is it worth it? And is writing this passage even worth it for the almighty hands hovering above the all-dimensions-reaching keyboard? As if this uncomfortable thought is still making the text-creator's head shake, this creator's creator just shakes their head instead, regretting ever giving doubt to the human species. What did they just do? It actually is a fun ride (or should he say: a fun write?); however, they did not intend for them to misuse their kindness and genorosity for self-destroying means. They chuckle at the thought of making a mess of their creations' lives though.

    Especially at the frustrated creator he created who just happened to forget the whole purpose of writing this text.
    Last edited by Doccium; 08-25-2019 at 02:14 PM.

  8. #717

    Running and jumping through the rooftops. It's tougher to make the leap, much more scary than like in those video games we all played as kids. Does help that I've always had a small build, but doesn't help that there are always things chasing me in my mind.

    The last time I would have just something safer, like sitting on a rooftop and looking at that colourful crowd of predictable suit and tie combinations. Or if on a more exciting day at night, up to those shining lights of possibilities and unknown, out of reach and illegal but satisfyingly imagination inspiring. Then rushing the stairs down back to the dishwashing station when his old grumble and hate-filled footsteps announce his predictable spot checks. Funny how it happens always after a trip out into society.

    It's on such amazing times of scene-watching that I know the little intricacies to the narrow streets below and curious valves to water tanks and such. Some of

    (I wrote three actually, and this is my third, slightly more decent that the others. Whoops, that was thirty minutes!)
    Doccium thanked this post.

  9. #718

    I don't feel safe anymore, it's like some light went off and I have no idea how to turn it on again and stop living in the dark. Something is missing, something is very wrong, and I don't know how to figure out what it is, but I'm sitting here crying, and I have no clue what to make of it other than the fact I'm screaming internally, and no one can hear me. My insides burn, everything is twisting and turning, and it hurts to breathe, and I honestly have no clue what it all means other than the fact I'm in mourning. Mourning the girl I used to be, mourning the relationship we had.

    I don't understand why I'm so destructive. I'm a mean, selfish, manipulative person, yet I feel so incredibly vulnerable and victimized on the inside. How is it I'm two different people, one person in my soul and another person to the world? It doesn't make sense, nothing about me makes sense anymore.

    I keep trying to figure out why I'm like this, why I'm so angry and emotional, and it all boils down to you. And how you treated me over the years. You don't seem to understand what you've done, and then you try to act like you're the one abused. Honey, you started the cycle. You're the reason everything turned to dust, you're the reason I started packing away knives in case you hurt me first. Because you always did, with some side comment or sarcastic remark, and that was perfectly fine until I started passively aggressively fighting back. Until it stopped being so passive. Until I started fighting dirty. But it never made me feel better because it went against everything I was as a person.

    Any angry outburst felt like a demon took hold of my body, because once I'd come to, I would be shaking and crying as if I had no clue what just happened. That's exactly how it felt being me for years on end, but these episodes would only happen with you, and I'd wonder what was wrong with me. For years I thought I was crazy, when truth of the matter is, you're the one who's created the mess. You're the one that has no idea what she's done, nor do I think you care because you think you're a fucking victim. No, you're not.
    And I'm honestly not sure why I feel this way, the anger in my soul is boiling. ... And I notice I do this; tell myself I don't know why I feel this way when I'm on the verge of cracking and reaching something groundbreaking.

    I hate everything I've become because of you, I hate that I can only scratch the surface because of you. No real emotions come through because I've learned to build walls from you. I've become an expert at hiding from the truth because I hated myself for decades. And it’s not that I even wanted to see the best in you, I just wanted you. I just wanted this fantasy life because I hated the world, I hated reality and everything it stood for.

    I've hated myself since before you, but you're the reason I set myself on fire. You're the reason I burnt to the ground and never made it out alive. You're the reason I'm holding a memorial for the girl I used to be, the flowers in my hand, the flowers I place on my grave are the ones you gave me. The ones you told me were from you, a symbol of the love I believed you had for me. But truth is, they never belonged to you or me. They were demons in our souls that I never even knew we had disguised as something beautiful. I believed I was good in soul, when I was only a devil beneath the surface.

    I have no idea why I'm like this, why I keep trying to dig up this girl who's been buried long ago, a girl I'm not even sure ever existed. Sometimes I wonder if I created a lot of this shit in my mind, if maybe I'm the reason I died. That maybe everything I'm blaming you for is everything I hate about myself. But I don't see that being the case, because everything is about you, and nothing is about me, and that's so easy to see even with my eyes closed. Even when I pretend to be blind to everything and only bury myself in who I want you to be. You're not a good person, and I'm not the first person to say that, yet I keep hoping that maybe I'm in this for the right reasons and not because I don't want to deal with reality. I don't want to deal with the fact I was never meant to be loved, that I was only meant to live a storyline that never ended, yet never started with you or me.
    Last edited by Gabrielle Hope; 08-26-2019 at 12:37 PM. Reason: Definitely longer than 10 min.. I just kept going, but stopped at 20 min. ... Also took out some parts.
    Aridela thanked this post.

  10. #719

    My best friend is an alien and I support his plan to destroy humanity.

    Now, not to make things confusing: Neither was I brainwashed to believe his very much noble goals are possibly generally seen as, uhm, unwanted or drastic or maybe even fatal to up to
    100 % of human life, nor were you brainwashed to believe that humanity would not deserve this fate.

    Let me put it this way: We are a yogurt, every sentient human being from the homo to the sapiens is a spoon full of yogurt. And the longer it is being left untouched, the more cultures it cultivates. That's a pretty neat feature, right? But the yogurt, you have to understand, has an expiration date.

    Oh, the date I am mentioning is not a specific date but one of the romantic kinds, especially those which end in heartbreak because one of the "lovers" rejects the other one (who, due to the inability to deal with break-ups und rejection) then breaks the first lover's heart, but, and now please imagine it in the most creative and wicked way, literally, like a serial killer or a regular killer. And now humanity, which has been left by my lovely friend's alien race (oh, and may the Great Meshma not bring acid rain down onto his crops [a common saying on his planet - cool, eh?]), has gone bad, slowley is getting moldy and old and uninteresting and un-fun and they don't want to play with us or observe us anymore as it would be too predictable.

    So, yeah. It is time to set sails to the afterlife and go extinct or, rather, nearly extinct or kept as accessoires by my friend's race so they can start the next big project. Humans have already done everything there is in their realm of possibility so they move on to something else - just like a real relationship, like the one mentioned before where the second lover moved on to jail! He says he'll keep me alive by bringing me to his planet as a pet and, honestly, that sounds pretty rad. I get to sleep all day, play 5th dimension videogames (the 4th dimension is pretty boring after a while; when they discovered it, it all seemed fantastic and great but now it's you eh and ew and uhm so he'll just introduce me and then move on to the better thing) and eat food we have never tasted before.

    Also, I cannot wait to get my new alien tongue for that purpose! He cannot taste most of earth's food (dammit, he's never been able to taste lasagna! Not so much an advanced race, huh? Gonna tease him with that!) and, as now more or less obvious, I would not be able to taste most of their dishes.
    They have put us into this life and so they can take us out like a robot or a Lego figure you built or an unwanted friend you think of as very unsympathetic so you try to spend as little time as possible with them to get rid of them. Kinda rude, I know, but what else are you supposed to do? Confront them? Haha, no. That would bring way too much drama and we don't need drama right now, we have bigger problems - how are we supposed to go about killing off the human race without damaging a too-large-number of other species?

    Probably wrote longer than 10 minutes but let's just ignore that.
    Last edited by Doccium; 08-27-2019 at 03:09 PM.
    Rong Wong thanked this post.

  11. #720

    It's been four months. Four months of unbearable torture. I was supposed to write, but couldn't. Too much distraction.

    Write you crazy fool. We don't have forever.

    Forever. What an interesting concept. For many years, summer was the time of respite. No school, no work, nothing to do but spend each waking hour in the pursuit of new forms of leisure. Did it get boring? Yes. But I found the one magic thing that made it all go away. But did I want it to?

    Click. Click. Click.

    My mouse is on its last legs. Too much time at the computer, too many clicks. No - this will not do. The brunette with pink nails wouldn't care. Poor girl. She thought I was high when she first met me, and now she'll see me again. Coming to in a random parking lot not knowing how you got there is maybe fun for the first minute, but sleep takes over the next.

    Can I help you?

    Um, let me.... uh.... see. I couldn't eat that. Too expensive. I could use the money on better things. I can see why she'd think I was high, but I wasn't. Being tired isn't fun. It's all the worst parts of being drunk, without the possibility of any good ones. No hugs. No fun chatter. No moments that the only recollection you'll have of are somewhere on a buddy's phone.

    It's the last time I'll make, then promptly forget, my plans to write. Even if it means boozing up, so be it. I will have that story written. Even if it means writing the curly haired woman and have her bug me until this damn thing is done.

    (10 minutes)

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