Old pieces resurfaced

Some time ago, I wrote pieces on a site called DeviantArt (which is incredible, by the way). I wrote some odd and interesting stuff, and stuff that only mature readers should read. So, if you're not mature, then click the x button at the top right corner of your screen.

Morning Reflections: 1
My philosophy on writing.

The time passes by me so slowly this early morning that I can hear the drumming of the clock resting near my head. The sound of the tics and tocs keeps playing so loudly that every other surrounding sound has practically vanquished, even the sound of my pencil writing on this piece of paper. Why am I writing about something so simple, you ask? I can only answer that question by stating a personal writer's motto of mine - view your literature as art in motion. Let your past experiences of sounds and images infuse with my words to become one. Let your mind hear the clock, let your mind see the clock....

My mind is always pretty much a blank canvas until I've got that one great idea that sparks the rest of my material. Think of my style of writing as a dynamite chain where, randomly, a supporting idea can create the topic and conclusion, the topic can create the body and conclusion, or the conclusion can create the topic and body. Here is my second writer's motto - never leave the writing pad without at least 1 good idea down. You will soon discover that you won't be able to leave your writer's pad anyway.

Think of the last time you deeply immersed yourself in an activity you love to do so much that nothing else mattered. This is exactly how I feel towards writing. When I'm in my own little writer's world, no one can judge me by calling me fat, stupid, or ugly. And if they choose to do so in reality, they might as well not be because I'll be too busy in the beautiful utopia that is literature to even notice.

Canada was my first liberator, but my second liberator is what I value almost above that - the pen. It can help you write letters or petitions to help protect what is sacred to you, to verbally express yourself, and to vent out your feelings during tough times. I think that's mostly what brought me close to the pen (or in the case of this entry, the pencil), the whole aspect of writing to let people know how I feel. I want you to get something out of it so that you can better understand some of your own experiences. Indeed, the pen is taken for granted nowadays.

Though I sometimes long for time to tick faster, I'm okay with taking as much of it as possible. Like writing a story, essay, lyrics, etcetera, you sometimes need to take lots of time to really see and create the least obvious beauties of the world. Seems like time passed by quicker than I'd hoped - it's been almost an exact hour since I've started writing. All I can say is good night, and I hope to write to you in a long, rather than short time, so my next welcome to you is at least on par with the quality of this entry.

The Return of An Old Friend
On our place in the world.

She, among the other two returned. We were discussing things like my future, and ways for me to avoid my parents. For those who don't know, my reasons are too long to tell, but you're going to have to take my word for it - they highly deserve all the suffering this world can bring. Me and my brothers have done some crazy shit to eachother, but in the end, we're still care about eachother no matter how fucked up things get between us. A knife and a gun can't separate us.

The sky isn't as starry and bright as we think they are when we're children. In reality, all children are crazy idealists who, like drug addicts, easily find amusement in anything. I used to want to be on drugs and have that child-like mind, worrying about nothing and too stupid to understand the true darkness of the world, not knowing of death and the evils. Unlike what happens in a children's story, nothing is ever happily ever after, but a beginning of the end.

Look around you, and what do you see? I see a moon, with a heart so black that it steals light from the sun to be a thieving glow, ending another day in an even more thieving world. I can smell it right now.... a grave, lit by moonlight, wolves driven wild in an almost sexual way by an animalistic celebritarianism that they hope to achieve, and an innocent bystander, unwelcome by them. When the moon glows at it's brightest, red rain will fall out of the sky, gaining a brown hue and smelling like rust when it dries and touches the ground. Soon after, the innocent bystander will suddenly disappear without a trace.

It is up to you to see the beauty in the morbidity of the world. I cannot simply explain it in words, because it is inexplainable. It is one without words, but it is projected in different ways to please the eye of each individual. Let what I'm saying mean something to you, rather than questioning what it means to me. If you do ask me to explain it in words, you will permanently lose it, because the point is to go beyond society and to think for yourselves.

Vision Quest
On evil and good.

So many times have I lost myself, gazing at that beautiful element of nature called fire. I stare into its soul, and soon enough, it becomes a mirrored reflection of mine. Past, unsolved mysteries of life seem to be solved by the colour scheme of yellow, orange, and red. However, once blown out, the black and grey of the world seem to instantly reappear. It’s strange how something considered to be dead breathes so much life into me.

A great loss of words describes this moment in time perfectly. Looking again at the fire, I see the yin and yang of life. The fire, representing goodness and love, is burning out, or metaphorically speaking, destroying the black string, the evil. But before the string was burned, it was white, which represents goodness and love as well. It just goes to show that within evil lies the potential for good and within good lies the potential for evil.

There’s a dark shadow surrounding everything in life, but the way that you deal with the darkness is a vitally detrimental factor. Every fire has a shadow around it that it casts. We all create problems in our lives and pay for it either by direct or indirect karma, with the most hurtful direct form being an irony of fate. However, no one is expected to be perfect or to make no mistakes, for the mere attempt at perfection is the biggest gesture of all.

Though fire is beautiful, it can be very destructive in the wrong hands. Think of a girl holding a fashion magazine, flipping over to a page with a diet ad. Whether this girl is healthy or not, if she has low self-esteem, the chances of her giving in become greater. This can lead to mental illnesses, sometimes as serious as anorexia or bolemia. Physical perfection is not a requirement to be deemed truly beautiful, but rather perfecting the fire that is your soul.

In the end, everyone has a blazing wall of fire surrounding them, producing many of the dark, evil wonders, and many of the light, good wonders, of the world. Together, we make the living fire of destruction, passion, love, joy, sadness, sorrow, and madness. If we ever miss even just one of these things, all purpose will be destroyed, and in our hearts will thrive a life-draining void. Take my words, heed yourselves… Because fire is far from related to the image of Hell.

There's been more in the past that I've written on DeviantArt, but those were long deleted.