Ozymandias Posted May 2, 2002 Report Posted May 2, 2002 A link to the past, a link forward, backward, and inbetween. A link to the future. A connection to the future so vast and uncomprehending that I need to sit down and drink a beer. There, that's better. Now what was I saying? Ah yes, the postulate of the paradigm is inherently useless if you're not attached in some way. Not attached to the world, no.
Guest Xradion Posted May 3, 2002 Report Posted May 3, 2002 Tintinnabulation. Several bells sound calling children back to the crazy class in the glass room with the insane old man. Prisons, churches: weddings and funerals. Bells of different timbre. Joy, sorrow, and insanity, wrapped together in a cypher, covered in an enigma, topped with a a riddle, and smothered in secret sauce. Xradion
Gwaihir Posted May 3, 2002 Report Posted May 3, 2002 "Bells bells bells bells" Edgar allen Poe A group of male angels, sit peering down through a hole in the clouds at two lovers. The overpale female sits happily Though she does not notice those overhead her lover does. The angels look jealously, their eyes mostly closed, scowling, teeth clenched.
Canid Posted May 3, 2002 Report Posted May 3, 2002 Four angellic forms grow pointy teeth. Their eyes become rimmed in black then turn red. Their wings loose their feathers and finally their skin looses its smoothness and turns hard and unplesant. The four gargoyle-like former angels launch themselves into the air. They fly past a single large pink flower sitting sollitary and beautiful.
Guest Xradion Posted May 3, 2002 Report Posted May 3, 2002 ...And I fly through the sky like Icarus, my wax wings melting in morning light, falling to the deepest depths of the ocean like the Morning Star, Lucifer, coming from afar. The Ser-pant's entering Eve's through the apple in the garden. When it fell from the tree, Newton discovered the Gravity of the situation.
Guest Minta Rose Posted May 6, 2002 Report Posted May 6, 2002 He was not a man to be clouted on the head by falling wings and accept it. Snatching up the offending waxworks, he rasped obscenties at each and every apple that had laughed, and marched in a beeline for the nearest lawyer's office. The Heavenly Host WOULD be held accountable for its failure to place "Caution: Falling Angels" signs.
Lady Celes Crusader Posted May 6, 2002 Report Posted May 6, 2002 Next to the sign, a angel falls in head first and a feather flies away in the wind. The white, light object travels in the valley of blank mountains, with a forest of dead trees, following the chinnook's will.
Guest Rezure Posted May 7, 2002 Report Posted May 7, 2002 Tom Hanks, carrying a brown leather briefcase in one hand and a half-eaten hoagie in the other is walking quite noisily in a park of leafless trees. He seems to be heading in the direction of a church of some kind and is walking at quite a brisk pace. The wind is very strong today and you can hear the howls. It's all poor Tom can do to stop the hoagie from flying out of his hand.
The Portrait of Zool Posted May 7, 2002 Author Report Posted May 7, 2002 It was a very special day. The future sat there at arms length sizzling and popping. He showed her his scar. The moon bowed her unseeing eyes and happily wept at the tragic beauty of it, the dew showers nurturing the radiant golden heart in his unknown depths, throbbing in it's own unquenchable dance. With an explosion like a thunderclap the ice mountain cracked...
Lady Celes Crusader Posted May 8, 2002 Report Posted May 8, 2002 "I'll have a Long Island Iced Tea, please!" said a customer to the barmaid. The lady rushed and pours the different rums necessary to the receipe, then adds the non-alcoholic ingredients, adds ice and decorates it with a lemon slice. "There you go handsome, it'll be $8.00", she adds
Peredhil Posted September 30, 2003 Report Posted September 30, 2003 Add the ads with scads of bad media hypes, you know the types, the types that hypes the impossibly perfect scantily clad fad bodies of the play day while you stay at work and perc the second pot of java beans while hyperlinking your web site for the site of the URLy birds who kiddy script the worms in scabrous patches looking for backdoor latches.
Appy Posted September 30, 2003 Report Posted September 30, 2003 And the fluorescent light illuminating the interiour of the compound we call the web flares over the databases and dissapears around the corner, taking it's add and "only today!" sentences with it.. filling voids along it's way.
Gwaihir Posted September 30, 2003 Report Posted September 30, 2003 The flares burst and we ducked for cover ...again The bomb whistled and missed us...only to crash on a civilian house a few meters away. We didnt' even grind our teeth or suffer sympathetically as we saw the pregnant woman stumble out...we were too enured to it.
The Portrait of Zool Posted September 30, 2003 Author Report Posted September 30, 2003 I raced to the cold comfort of the deep green as fast as I could across the seemingly infinite flat expanse - focused, straining, breathless - the glow of the approaching sunrise threatening to bring the light, and the heat... but then it was all over. I only had the briefest flash of pain as my armour splintered, my body exploded. "Eeeew," said the man, wincing in the cool morning twilight at the unexpected but familiar crunch of a hapless snail from under his shoe.
WrenWind Posted September 30, 2003 Report Posted September 30, 2003 Brilliant cyrstals suspended seamingly in thin air , step closer to see tiny threads with silver droplets of dew hanging from them. Reach out to touch and recoil as a huge spider appears between your eyes
Regel Posted October 1, 2003 Report Posted October 1, 2003 Jarred loose the tiny silver droplet free falls down onto a sizzling white hot stone and vaporizes at once into the gas it once was. Warm breezes sweep it into a local bar were a patron has just ordered a long island tea. Coalescing coolly on the amber edge of the slippery glass. Warm vapours are conspiring into a single bead. The gleaming droplet is quickly forming a critical mass and once again begins its suicidal dash down the smooth surface. It ends its short-lived life on the folds of a crisp napkin while the tired patron dissolves slowly in his own thoughts.
Ayshela Posted October 1, 2003 Report Posted October 1, 2003 (edited) Thoughts whirled madly behind his tired eyes, writhing and leaping over each other in an effort to reach the top - to find recognition, perhaps even expression. Realizing his thoughts had begun to reflect the swirling eddies in the drink he slowly twirled between his hands, he sighed, gulped the rest of his drink, and moved heavily toward the door still seeking relief. (edited for stupid spelling error) Edited October 1, 2003 by Ayshela
Lady Celes Crusader Posted October 1, 2003 Report Posted October 1, 2003 Outside, a little girl is twirling her hair while playing with a hula-hoop. "Louie Louie" song is playing on a nearby mono-radio, under the hot sun.
Appy Posted October 1, 2003 Report Posted October 1, 2003 Lazily the cat yawns and starts licking her paws.. after some time she blinks and looks down from her high vantage point (the balcony of the house on the 5th floor that belongs to the old Lady) and her eyes follow the young man that's walking down the street...
lumpenproletariat Posted October 1, 2003 Report Posted October 1, 2003 He skips over every second block of concrete, he avoids stepping on all the cracks, he touches each telephone pole he passes three times. He passes his own type of judgement on those who walk by him, while in turn ignoring judgement of his own obssessions...
Peredhil Posted October 2, 2003 Report Posted October 2, 2003 His heart beats with fears. If he steps on a crack, he'll break a back. If he misses a pole bad times will roll. With every ritual he wrests meaning and control on a world that is moving too quickly and chaotic. His Head gibbers at Heart, decrying all this nonsense, but in his heart he knows the secret truths that children know... Passing by, dodging with outraged cry, the beauty with the black eyes and silvery blond hair glares at the looney in the way. He's forgotten in a moment, for her inner world is as dark today as the outworld sky kisses the sun good morning. In her thoughts, one reality rules...
The Portrait of Zool Posted October 2, 2003 Author Report Posted October 2, 2003 The heady smell of dark loam fills her head as her spade bites into the loose soil. She feels the dampness through the knees of her loose coveralls where she kneels, head bent to task under wide brimmed hat. A distant owl gives a single hoot, then is silent. With a resolute twist she pulls out another brightly flowering Narcissus Jonquilla, gone gray in the pale moonlight. Throwing it to the side, she carefully prepped the fresh excavation with perceived injuries, languishing dreams, and the manipulative smiles of fermented insecurities. Chuckling conspiratorially with herself she dropped in another Rhus Diversiloba, in a long row of a large field of Rhus Diversiloba . Tamping the soil carefully around the thin stem she then doused the area around it liberally from her watering can. Her satisfied smile only partially diminished as she took off her prim cotton gloves and set them aside to absently scratch at the mysterious angry swellings that covered both hands and arms, to which she gave little thought as they slowly consumed her. 'Soon I will be safe', she thought, 'Finally the cause of all my troubles will be gone...'
WrenWind Posted October 2, 2003 Report Posted October 2, 2003 Touble just started and mulitplies on it's on as a small boy runs through the freshly planted weeds. as he runs back out into the street his shins begine to burn and itch so he heads home at full speed. tears streaming down his cheeks. He doesn't even notice that he forgot to close the door behind him as he barges though to find his mom.
Salinye Posted October 2, 2003 Report Posted October 2, 2003 "Mom." She whispered one last time as she took her hand. She couldn't help but notice the contrast of her vibrant milky skin with that of her mothers wrinkled hand painted with age spots. Wrinkles and spots that told the tale of a woman whose hands loved, and were loved by many. Hands that could manipulate yarn through a weave with amazing speed and expertise. Hands that were even more proficient at weaving the strands of our hearts.
Cerulean Posted October 8, 2003 Report Posted October 8, 2003 In a gothic house, on a gloomy evening, a severed hand tosses one of its own bloody digits into the dish of the nervous dinner guest. The guest - being a vegetarian - politely eats only what's under the fingernail.
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