User Tag List

First 910111213 Last

Results 101 to 110 of 141

  1. #101
    Supreme High Commander Andy's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2009
    MBTI
    INTJ
    Enneagram
    5w6
    Posts
    1,108

    Default

    Quote Originally Posted by Lady X View Post
    umm...pretty please...

    I wrote this some time ago. I actually managed to get it printed ina short story magazine, but I still own the rights to it.


    The Slammer.
    There was a skeleton chained to the wall opposite Gordon and it was beginning to bug him. Not because it represented the mortality of man and their ultimate fate, but because it was made of plastic. Somehow that made it seem far more sinister. What sort of mind would put a plastic skeleton into a jail cell? It was only a country gaol where drunkards (like himself) and petty vandals were kept awhile, not death row.

    Another scream ripped through the air, but he did not jump this time. It was a recording, playing on a loop and by now he could guess when each and every yell would come. In just a few seconds there would be a woman - yes, there she blows, just like Old Reliable.

    Through the bars of the cage he could see a metal bin in which a coal fire was burning, with a number of metal implements thrust into it to be heated. Gordon had to admit that it was one of the better fakes he had seen, but like a lot of fires today it was gas powered. The red glow was produced by a tinted bulb.

    Still, the place had given him one hell of a scare when he came round. Talk about disorientation, when you wake up after a drunken binge one should not be surprised to find yourself wearing a paper suit, but this was too much.

    Gordon heard the sound of a key being turned in a lock followed by a slam and then footsteps. At last! An officer was coming and he could pay the fine or whatever and get out of here.

    The door to the ‘dungeon’ was made out of thick wood with metal studs driven through it. As it opened Gordon thought that asking for something as sane as an ironed uniform might be a bit much in this place - he was right.

    The man who came through was stripped to the waist, presenting a swollen beer gut and hairy chest for inspection. Below that was a pair of course linen breaches and heavy boots. The jailors greasy hair grew down to his shoulders and he wore an eye patch.

    “Good morning, and how are you feeling today?”

    “Better.”

    “Excellent. You really should be more careful how much you drink.”

    As the jailor got closer Gordon could see that his body was ridden with boils and sores. As the man scratched Gordon wondered if he had lice or something as well.

    He was waiting for the jailor to explain about the decorations, but instead he busied himself cleaning. It was then that he knew the jailor was not going to say anything - he was waiting to be asked. You could see it in every not quite casual stroke of the rag - he was dying for Gordon to say the words. This must be like the mans hobby or something. It had to be done.

    “So... did you make this place.”

    “What? Oh, you mean all the decorations? Yes, it’s how I fill my time.”

    “Must have taken a lot of effort.”

    “It’s a labour of love. There’s a whole group of us you know, sort of like an unofficial society. We all get together on Sunday night and compare notes. It was there that I got the address for the company that made your cell mate.”

    Gordon looked at the plastic skeleton. It looked right back.

    “Fantastic.”

    “No, not really. You see, we’re always striving to be more authentic and plastic’s, well, just that. I wanted to have a genuine skeleton, or at least a skull, but the health and safety rules are all against it.”

    “Spoil sports.”

    “Quite so - just look at this place! There’s central heating and even a mattress on your bed. To be true to life this place should be cold and dank with nothing in the cells except a stone block. Not to mention that it should be ten foot under the ground. They wouldn’t even let me put in a rack and a few thumb screws, said someone might make accusations of police brutality."

    “Sounds ridiculous.”

    The bare chested man looked so depressed that Gordon felt sorry for him. The jailor tried to sit down on a stool but the sword on his belt got jammed. As he jerked it out the way Gordon noticed that the blade was made of plastic as well.

    “I mean how am I supposed to recreate the atmosphere of dread and despair with strip lights? I’m telling you that’s the problem with modern society - too much bureaucracy.”

    “That’s true. The place where I work the bosses are always complaining about the radios being played too loud.”

    “That's right, ‘cause you know that it all comes down to the same thing - dehumanisation.”

    The jailor paused to nod at him wisely before continuing.

    “They just don’t seem to understand that people want the human touch. It’s those little things - the cuddly toy, the funny poster - that can turn a room from a working environment into a home from home. If only they could understand the myriad benefits that range from increased productivity to greater employee loyalty. It should be of particular importance to associations such as the police that are in the public eye. Just those little things and we could change from a faceless organisation to the publics best friend.”

    The jailor sat with his hands folded across his belly and sighed.

    “I’ve tried telling them all this, but they refuse to understand. It all makes me feel so sad.”

    Gordon walked up to the bars and leaned against them. The jailor looked so pathetic sitting there with his plastic sword and glum face that he had to say something to cheer him up.

    “Come on - at least you’ve beaten the bastards in some small way. I bet the they’d hate this place, but you’ve gone and put it together anyway. That’s a victory, one for the home team.”

    “That’s true.”

    The jailor seemed to have forgotten that he had insulted the place just a few minutes ago.

    “You and your friends are like pioneers, pushing the evolution of society along. Why, without people like you this country is never going to enter the twenty-first century.”

    “Your so kind. It’s nice to have one’s dedication recognised at last... You know, even within our little group I can’t help but feel that I belong to a hard core group - not that I’m boasting you understand.”

    “Of course not."

    “You see, not only do we try to make our surroundings authentic, we like to be so ourselves.”

    “Yes, I can see your costume and sword.”

    “No, no, I mean beyond that.”

    “Beyond?”

    “Why yes. The people of those days were very different to modern man, so we try to alter ourselves to be more like them.”

    “Such dedication!” said Gordon. In fact, he did not have a clue what the man was rambling about, but did not want to spoil the good atmosphere.

    The jailor jumped off his stool and ran over to a large wooden chest in the corner of the room and started searching through the contents. After a few seconds he came back up holding a booklet made of cardboard.

    “Some of the boys and I have put together a little guide of all the diseases that a jailor of the time might have had. We consider it to be our duty to pick up as many as possible.”

    “What?”

    “Oh yes, we’ve made it into something of a competition. You see, each of the various infections and conditions comes with an associated point score. At the end of the month we compare our totals - to prevent cheating we have doctor on hand to verify some of the more obscure illnesses.”

    “That... makes sense, I suppose.”

    “Some of use have gone to great length. Marcus - that’s his ‘period name’, not the real one - went on a round the world trip to some of the third world countries where the populace still benefit from these afflictions.

    “You see, he always had a dream - to pick up the black death. Nobody had that yet, so it would be his unique thing, a little bit special. Anyway, one day he got it too, and came flying straight back to show us all. He was so proud... which was why he was so heart broken when by the end of the weak everybody in town had it. Oh, well, live can be so unfair at times. Mind you, he should have know better.”

    “He should?”

    “Yes, the black death is such an infectious disease. There’s several different varieties you know and the one that he picked up was spread by coughing. Back when the plague was at its height that one was not so much of a problem because people did not travel around so much. Because of the efficiency of the modern day transport it could spread from London to Birmingham quite easily in a day, I think. If you lived on a railway line you would probably be safe, because after privatisation it would never get past Piccadilly circus that way.

    “Personally, I much prefer infections that one can keep to yourself, such as VD’s. I’ve already got syphilis and I’m trying to get gonorrhoea as well before my genitals completely rot off. I’ll go mad too in later life.”

    “I shouldn’t worry about that.”

    “No, it’ll make my act complete.”

    “Do you know when I’ll be able to get out of here?”

    “Someone will come along soon. In the mean time would like to examine my collection of skin diseases? I’ve already got fifty points there...”
    Don't make whine out of sour grapes.

  2. #102
    Senior Member Synapse's Avatar
    Join Date
    Dec 2007
    MBTI
    INFP
    Enneagram
    4
    Socionics
    INFp
    Posts
    3,403

    Default

    II

    Simon awoke, a few hours into his sleep, the internal process alerting him to danger. For the defensive nannods are hypersensitive to any motion up to a radius of five hundred meters. Thus their capacity is very well regarded, especially since they can differentiate hostile signals from non-hostile signals, after all as said earlier they are a curse as well as a godsend. For anybody equipped, even with the simplest agitators can detect sensitive nannods approach. It helps, but then there are other problems that arise.

    One in particular is most troubling, with equipped agitator nannods you run the risk of secret compartments, these are like leeches and infect the rest of your system, Simon knows this. Not that it’s bad, actually it is a good thing to have, they are more like police agitators if truth be known, the masses are unaware, thus blissfully ignorant. However if their intent is malicious and criminal, well good luck to them. For they act like restraints, flies trapped in the bigger working web, a network of intricate nannods deactivate all protesting nannods and hold the suspect in paralysis, awaiting for the artificials to apprehend whoever it may be.

    Now Simon has been around a long time and is very aware of these dead locks that come as a price for nannocular interface. But it is also known that many different pirated nannoculates are free of these law busters. And still there are geerigs, they act as nannods citizens within the community of nannocular interfaces. Once the possessed nannods activate, they are quickly weeded out and neutralized, however geerigs are very hard to come by, even more depressing is the cost associated with such wares.

    This is the price humanity pays for nannocular technology, freedom always has a price, for no human is truly free, not any more. Not after the nanotechnological revolution, not even if any wanted to, for in the after math of the nannocular explosion, while only the ever rich truly possess the state of the art nannoculates, all persons of Earth at least are possessed by some form of nannoculates, if not the nannods mothers.

    In that respect, even the people claiming to be nannocular free, can never be free, no one can. This is a well-kept secret only a few know. For permutations occur all the time, while not all bad, such mutation injects within the human genome, thus a hereditary predisposition occurs, where whether we want it or not, nannods will forever remain. While not harmful, but a part of the human genetic structure as of the year 4115.

    Simon alert, stimulants injected into his olfactory glands, bring him to rapid wakefulness, a silent alarm blipping across his terminal. Flipping to eye cam, he scans the outer perimeter of the entire building, all fifty-nine floors. ‘That’s odd, nothing.’ Then a significant squeeze occurs two floors down. Immediately, he realizes the significance, vertical squeezers, much like his own, a form of shielding from camera imprints, very sophisticated nannods trick camera wares into believing no one is there, thus you can become invisible. Not in the physical sense of the word, but from all camera extensions and that is an extremely handy thing to have, especially since the big brother revolution.

    No one, especially in metropolitan cities is impervious, or rather immune to being imprinted by cameras at least a thousand times, if not a million. They’re everywhere. Most however are so nannoculated, it’s almost funny. For you wouldn’t know it but you breath the suckers in half the time and expose your own system. But like with everything, if you have the know how, you can combat this problem with appropriate shield rigs. All camera nannods simply bounce off harmlessly, like any normal skin flake or normal oxygen molecule, or for that matter any numerous other molecules constantly present. It’s enough to make anyone paranoid, but then paranoia is the buzzword of the 51st century.

    Simon knows this to be a very peculiar intrusion, nothing to do with artificials at all. For with nannoculates came the cybertronic age. That was only a matter of time. Cybertronics and artificial engines are heavily incorporated in today’s society, you can’t go a block without encountering one, from human implants, to androids, to billboards, it all over the place. Except in most circumstances, androids are so much like humans in every way there is no telling weather your speaking with a human.

    You could say that we are all androids to a degree with nannoculation. But in all seriousness, artificials are extremely useful, from the extravagant sex slaves of Hypernotia, to the begrudging police core, then there are always all the government servers such as cleaners, sweepers, service providers, technical support, all manner of operations to be exact. Sometimes you’d think what manners of jobs are left for today’s society.

    But enough of this, Simon knew these intruders to be otherworldly, he could tell. It’s the way they compose themselves, after all, once he knew what to focus on; he brought in special rigs. For with every technology, there is an agent that is capable of uncovering it, for a price that is. Thus he employs his agent, a sonic rippler, basically sends infra waves across the board exposing all hidden devices, and to tell you, it’s all rather amazing the things that reanimate to motion once this process has been done. Naturally nobody is aware of this except the devices owner, in this instance Simon.

    What happened next astonished him beyond belief. For the first time in his life his device failed him. This was actually more devastating than the time he thought he contracted the infamous Type D super bug. ‘That’s goddamn impossible.’ Staggering away from the viewfinders, he immediately set to terminal meltdown. He new this to be otherworldly, he could even guest, the kalaal elite, it must be. With insipid haste, he activated his golden jackal. His only defense mechanism against this sort of intrusion, he knew his premise has been compromised, and it will only take a matter of seconds for them to breach his internal locks.

    With frantic haste, he sets for a new destination, grief stricken, an overwhelming sadness gripped him, as he is about lose decades of carefully gathered nannoculators. Some of the most rare end of line types that can never be recreated for he jacked some for his own endeavors. In any even most of it is on his person, so its not a big deal, but the sentimental factor is very strong. A moment’s hesitation, he triggers the molecular desensator, a good device to have especially in emergency escape procedures.

    Basically it’s a travelling device. It transmogrifies all his molecular as well as nannocular as well as cybernetic imprints and destabilizing his whole body for a moment, and re-imprints it into another location. Its not without its charm, not the latest issue, not the legal verity, but how many of his nannoculates were ever acquired legally any way, it does the trick, if ever so crudely. Displaced, one moment refragmented the next to a location of his choosing.

    Meanwhile, upon his departure, his entire complex is destroyed by the golden jackal, a secret nannoculate, not uncommon in military operations. The trouble is, it won’t stop at Simons apartment, it will spread throughout the entire building, thus all autonomous nannoculatery devices will be terminated, this will most definitely be in the mornings Transantarctic news. With a smug satisfaction, with a sad longing he jumps off a platform, hopping into a hover jack.

    ‘Where to.’ A mute standard issue voice chimes.
    Bringing up his gland receptors, Simon releases a few of his own restructured nannods into the hover jacks system to take complete control, being wary to disarm the security alert and tracking devices cleverly scattered throughout the machines internal dialogue.
    ‘Whe..re tooo..’ The confused voice restates.
    ‘Lets, see, how bout you take me to Mindori Avenue.’ Simon snaps his finger, lifting his feet up in the air, half-relaxed, half in ponderous communion with his own internal nannoculators.
    ‘Mindori, mindori, that is a restricted, restricted.’ Slight glyphs later.’ Very good sir, Mindori avenue, trajectory in approximately six hours.’
    This one goes for 30 chapters or so...hahah at me. it was meant to be 100. Its decided I shall post all my badly written, its so stomach churningly hard to read writing, here. And the, flat characters, editing and grammatical errors and stuff reminds me why I didn't have the heart to continue. From time to time I'll post, its an amused kind of nostalgia.

  3. #103
    nee andante bechimo's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2010
    Posts
    8,025

    Default

    A random and incomplete thought. Am bored with it so I won't bother taking it any further.

    Dark of the night, warm breeze whispering through the leaves, arenas of activity illuminated by street lights.

    In the first arena, a raccoon humps its way past sedentary cars, sniffing for deletable treats. Its bandit eyes pierce the darkness, unafraid, almost arrogant in its assumption of safety.

    The second arena reveals a young couple, desperately embraced in their first throes of urgent passion. Lips and hands a frenzy of activity. Breaths comingled, air in and out like bellows in a forge.

    A flash of movement then stillness, a thief slips quietly past the third spotlight, unaware that the knife in his hand has been revealed by a momentary glint.

  4. #104
    The Duchess of Oddity Queen Kat's Avatar
    Join Date
    Apr 2009
    MBTI
    E.T.
    Enneagram
    7w8
    Posts
    3,116

    Default

    The Four Elements

    As many others, my children also wanted to say a few words. Oh, well, wanting isn't quite the good word. It's just that they were afraid that if they didn't say those few words, their aunts wouldn't give them money for their birthdays anymore. So they decided to write their late father a short poem. Bennie loved the attention when he walked over to the stage, Jos didn't quite enjoy it that much. Bennie's arm was still in a bandage, so Jos held the microphone for him.
    "Hey dad," Bennie said excited. "I just wanted to say it kinda sucks you're dead and all. You know, that you drowned yourself. Err, why? Yeah, why? Err, okay. Well, Jos and I wrote you a poem. It's about you and how you're dead and stuff. It's called 'the Four Elements'. For those of us who don't know what elements are: I can't explain it myself. It's rather complicated. Well, here it goes: the Four Elements. 'You were the best lawyer on earth, And you always had your head in the air. Now you jumped in the water, And today we'll set you on fire.' I know it doesn't rhyme, but I hope you like it. Well, bye dad. Rip."
    "Rip," Jos said too. The two of them left the stage. The people in the room seemed to be shocked. Only my father stood up and applauded loudly. He has a strange sense of humor.
    I was sitting outside the classroom waiting to go in, and I saw an airplane hit the tower. The TV was obviously on. I used to fly myself and I said, "There's one terrible pilot."
    - George W. Bush -


    SCUAI - 7w8 sx/sp - Chaotic Evil - Fucking Cute - ALIVE

    Blog. Read it, bitches.
    Questions? Click here
    If you don't agree about my MBTI type, you can complain about it here. I've had plenty of people telling me I'm something else, in my reputation box. That's annoying.

  5. #105
    The Duchess of Oddity Queen Kat's Avatar
    Join Date
    Apr 2009
    MBTI
    E.T.
    Enneagram
    7w8
    Posts
    3,116

    Default

    Whoops, killed the thread again! Guess I'll have to bring it back to live, AGAIN.

    Scene: A conversation with Jip about heaven, rough sketch
    Situation: Gabrielle witnessed how her daughter murdered her nemesis Evi L. a few days ago. To make sure her daughter wouldn't get arrested, Gabrielle sold the body to a cannibal. That evening Evi L.'s nurse found a whole collection of dead bodies in Evi's attic. The whole world is panicking, because Evi L. could be anywhere, trying to murder anyone who'd cross her path. Meanwhile Jip visits Gabrielle every week. Gabrielle makes him pay money, so she can make him believe her butler, who also witnessed the murder of Evi L. and ran away crying, is Jesus Christ. Jip believes everything Gabrielle tells him.

    Jip runs into Gabrielle's room hysterically. He's gasping very loudly.
    Gabrielle: Hey Jip, what's going on? You look scared.
    Jip: Is anybody following me?
    Gabrielle: I don't think so.
    Jip: Well, that's the thing, you can never know. Maybe they're hiding behind a bush or a sculpture.
    Gabrielle: Why would anybody follow you?
    Jip: So they can kill me.
    Gabrielle: Kill you? Is this because of that damn Evi thing?
    Jip: Well, you can never know! She might me in South America, but she might be right inside your cupboard. It's better to be prepared.
    Gabrielle: There are no psycho cripples in my cupboard.
    Jip: I'd better check it! Before you know it she kidnaps us and then she'll take us to her torture room and rape us and cut us in little pieces and then we'll bleed to death and that hurts so badly and -
    Gabrielle: Jip, Jesus saves.
    Jip: Sorry- what?
    Gabrielle: Jesus saves. You should know.
    Jip: Jesus? He'll save us?
    Gabrielle: Jesus saves everybody who has faith in him.
    Jip: So, if Evi comes to get us, Jesus will kick her ass and save our lives?
    Gabrielle: I wouldn't count on that. He's a bit of a coward. A while ago something similar happened, but he ran away screaming like a little girl. My daughter had to save our ass. Hooray for teenage lesbians.
    Jip: Jesus didn't save you? But you said he does!
    Gabrielle: He'll take you to heaven. If you die, you don't have to be afraid that you'll burn in hell forever.
    Jip: Heaven?
    Gabrielle: Yeah, you know, heaven. Clouds, carnival rides, roller coasters, hot naked chicks with wings, chicken wings -
    Jip: I know what heaven is! I do!
    Gabrielle: But you don't care?
    Jip: Not right now! I want to stay alive! I have to fulfill my quest!
    Gabrielle: So you're not grateful for what Jesus does for you?
    Jip: I have to spread the word of God! I have to do that before I die! I didn't get cursed for nothing. I have a very important job to do!
    Gabrielle: Don't be so ungrateful! You should be ashamed! Go home and think about it very carefully! That will be 75 euros.
    Jip: But you haven't told me anything yet. You haven't thought me anything.
    Gabrielle: Let this be your lesson for this week. Don't be ungrateful towards the Messiah. He loves you and he doesn't like it when you break his balls. That hurts his little heart.
    Jip: Oh no, poor Jesus! What aweful! I'm going back home and I'm going to think about my stupid actions. Here you have your 75 euros. And wait, here you have some extra money, so you can buy Jesus a good lunch. Tell him I'm very sorry for breaking his balls.
    Gabrielle: I'll tell him.
    Jip: Bye then.
    Gabrielle: Bye Jip.
    Jip leaves. Gabrielle counts the money.
    Gabrielle: Great. Now I can finally buy those rocking shoes!
    I still need to make it a little longer.
    I was sitting outside the classroom waiting to go in, and I saw an airplane hit the tower. The TV was obviously on. I used to fly myself and I said, "There's one terrible pilot."
    - George W. Bush -


    SCUAI - 7w8 sx/sp - Chaotic Evil - Fucking Cute - ALIVE

    Blog. Read it, bitches.
    Questions? Click here
    If you don't agree about my MBTI type, you can complain about it here. I've had plenty of people telling me I'm something else, in my reputation box. That's annoying.

  6. #106
    The Duchess of Oddity Queen Kat's Avatar
    Join Date
    Apr 2009
    MBTI
    E.T.
    Enneagram
    7w8
    Posts
    3,116

    Default

    Thread reanimation: failed.
    I was sitting outside the classroom waiting to go in, and I saw an airplane hit the tower. The TV was obviously on. I used to fly myself and I said, "There's one terrible pilot."
    - George W. Bush -


    SCUAI - 7w8 sx/sp - Chaotic Evil - Fucking Cute - ALIVE

    Blog. Read it, bitches.
    Questions? Click here
    If you don't agree about my MBTI type, you can complain about it here. I've had plenty of people telling me I'm something else, in my reputation box. That's annoying.

  7. #107
    Senior Member Accept's Avatar
    Join Date
    Dec 2008
    MBTI
    TRUE
    Posts
    100

    Default

    Quote Originally Posted by Queen Kat View Post
    Guess I'll have to bring it back to live, AGAIN.
    Thank you for trying.

    Quote Originally Posted by Queen Kat View Post
    I still need to make it a little longer.
    True

    Quote Originally Posted by Queen Kat View Post
    Thread reanimation: failed.
    Beginning to wonder if it's the lack of feedback the writers have been given, or just a lack of interest in posting anything. If it's the feedback issue, I can say I've enjoyed everything offered, and I going to assume there are others who agree. Personal preferences mean enjoying some posts more than others, but to everyone, keep it coming. To anyone who has thought of posting, but hasn't done so yet, this would be a good place to begin.
    Naked to unknown forces, fortune evades mere understanding. The trial of effort.
    The dream of change. Such a place might Hell be to thought and action.
    [SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]

  8. #108
    Starcrossed Seafarer Aquarelle's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2010
    MBTI
    INFJ
    Enneagram
    4w5
    Posts
    3,532

    Default

    New poem. The first in a loooong time, so go easy on me! Based on a CAPTCHA I got recently.


    Hulaed Confessions

    These confessions feel strange in my mouth.
    Their articulation is awkward
    like an unfamiliar dance--
    capoeira, flamenco, hula.

    I am maladroit,
    ashamed,
    but I must atone for my sins.

    Swaying my hips--
    I have made a graven image.

    I raise one heel, then the other--
    I have borne false witness.

    I fold my arms across my chest--
    I have coveted.

    Then lower them, showing my palms.
    I have killed.

    My movements are clumsy.
    They aren't the right ones;
    God would misunderstand.

    I must answer to you.
    Masquerading as a normal person day after day is exhausting.

    My blog:
    TypeC: Adventures of an Introvert
    Wordpress: http://introvertadventures.wordpress.com/

  9. #109
    & Badger, Ratty and Toad Mole's Avatar
    Join Date
    Mar 2008
    Posts
    18,536

    Default

    Quote Originally Posted by Aquarelle99 View Post
    New poem. The first in a loooong time, so go easy on me! Based on a CAPTCHA I got recently.


    Hulaed Confessions

    These confessions feel strange in my mouth.
    Their articulation is awkward
    like an unfamiliar dance--
    capoeira, flamenco, hula.

    I am maladroit,
    ashamed,
    but I must atone for my sins.

    Swaying my hips--
    I have made a graven image.

    I raise one heel, then the other--
    I have borne false witness.

    I fold my arms across my chest--
    I have coveted.

    Then lower them, showing my palms.
    I have killed.

    My movements are clumsy.
    They aren't the right ones;
    God would misunderstand.

    I must answer to you.
    What a lovely poem. It's floating around in my head looking for an answer, and moving my feet in a dance. And while I was dancing, touched my heart.

  10. #110
    Starcrossed Seafarer Aquarelle's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2010
    MBTI
    INFJ
    Enneagram
    4w5
    Posts
    3,532

    Default

    Another CAPTCHA poem. I like this one better, though it still definitely needs some work. I am happy to be writing poetry again though! Wheeeee!




    Cyclops Labor

    This country was built on Cyclops labor,
    myopic giants, unable to see beyond
    the tunnel of vision
    through which they glimpsed
    the glint of gold.

    The giants herded the Sioux,
    Shoshone, Ojibwe, Cherokee
    through the tunnel.
    For them it led not to gold
    but to poverty, the Rez, alcoholism.

    They brought the Mbundu, BaKongo,
    Yoruba through the tunnel on ships
    to mine the gold, polish their gilded mansions.
    Promises of mules and stolen land,
    promises of freedom, broken
    or sullied by blackface,
    Jim Crow, ignorance.

    The giants hoard the gold,
    leaving mortals to scratch bits
    of copper and nickel from the ground.

    Like desert animals in search of water,
    mortals from Jalisco, Durango, Michoacán
    whose arid land cannot sustain them
    migrate through the tunnel.
    Though the giants call them aliens
    they travel not in shiny spaceships
    but in box cars, shipping containers,
    or on foot, dying by the dozen
    in the desert.

    And still the Cylopes labor on
    in their white dress shirts,
    and still the mortals scrape nickel
    from the earth.
    Masquerading as a normal person day after day is exhausting.

    My blog:
    TypeC: Adventures of an Introvert
    Wordpress: http://introvertadventures.wordpress.com/

Similar Threads

  1. Post songs you've written here
    By CuriousFeeling in forum Arts & Entertainment
    Replies: 3
    Last Post: 11-18-2016, 11:12 AM
  2. What's the rudest thing you've ever done?
    By Asterion in forum The Bonfire
    Replies: 94
    Last Post: 09-09-2009, 09:03 PM
  3. [NT] really mean things you've said that you sort of regret a little maybe
    By murkrow in forum The NT Rationale (ENTP, INTP, ENTJ, INTJ)
    Replies: 45
    Last Post: 08-04-2008, 04:03 PM
  4. craziest thing you've ever told someone?
    By prplchknz in forum The Bonfire
    Replies: 15
    Last Post: 05-05-2008, 03:00 PM

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
Single Sign On provided by vBSSO