Literature-Inspired
30 Dec 2010 Leave a Comment
in Beauty, December Frozen., Warmth Tags: family, RPG
Here’s a little literature-inspired ramble for ‘ya’. It, like every other story I tell, felt so good to get out onto digital paper. Funny thing? I hadn’t known before an hour ago that I had something to say:
Us roleplayers, we’re not all that different from the Suicide Pac(k)t (reference to albert borris’s book). Going into this online writing relationship, every one of us has problems, and most are seeking ways to handle or solve those problems. You might have grown up in a poor home where you never got to wear or eat name brands. Your parents may have loved you too much, overbearing and pressing in on your life from all sides, or never loved you at all; they could have been cold, money-calculating human beings with no sense of how to raise a child with love. You might have never had a romantic relationship – you might be too ugly, too fat, too lanky, or too young; you never felt like you belonged in the crowd you had to belong in. Someone once told me that every writer in this community has a story, a reason why they are there and not out shopping in a mall somewhere, and he is absolutely right.
Loneliness or “the itch” are the two main factors I’ve recognized in my fellow roleplayers, and I know that both exist in myself at the same time. Loneliness develops naturally, from rejection or instability or both. The Itch is the craving that some creative peoples feel in the “gut” of their mind. It’ll push them to do something, change something, but until they really sit down with a pen, paintbrush, or a ball of clay, they can’t fully understand what it is they are supposed to do.
The moment I wrote my first story, I knew that I’d found something to satisfy that itch, albeit temporarily. Other kids feel that roleplaying gives them a chance to live in a different world, maybe even a fantasy world like Pandora or Middle Earth, where the sky (i.e. administrative rules) is the limit, and life always has an off-switch. With the internet, if you are so frustrated that you need to get up and walk away, you can. It’s as simple as that. No one is going to follow you into your room when you don’t want to see them, or call you a million times just to yell at you when you finally do answer with a low,“What?” When you turn your computer off, you turn off that world, but it is as easy as electricity to immerse yourself in it all over again.
The characters are probably what I love most about my online community. Creating a character for a story or for a roleplaying forum is like molding a child, only this fictional “child” doesn’t have to be young. You, the creator, choose every single thing about the character from it’s weight to its history, likes and dislikes, appearance, personality, age, hair color, eye color, its passions, its fears, its hopes… essentially you are creating another you that doesn’t have to be you at all. How amazing is that? First, you create this character, following whatever form or guidelines are required of you (if any) on that particular board, and then you release it into this world – every character in that world can possibly be affected by your one character, just like every real person in our world can be impacted by us if that is our choosing.
A lot of critics in my own life, my closest family and friends, show me that only an RPG writer can understand what it means to be a part of this culture. Unless someone has experienced it for themselves, the good, bad and the difficult, it is an impossible concept to grasp. The biggest and most obvious statement tied to roleplaying: it is not real. They repeat that it is not the real world, and that we are living our most precious years out online instead of where we belong.
I know a few facts of my own, like: when I was in my early teens, an absolute noob to the online community, there was nowhere else that I did belong. I was awkward, lonely, unsatisfied with how I lived my life and how I looked. Sure, I had “friends”, but I did not fully understand how important a real friend could be until I began making them. Whether it be through chat, private messaging, or through your writing, the members of an RP site can become connected closer than any family in “real” life can. The anonymity that comes with a computer allows for complete honests – usernames become real names and ages, likes, dislikes and histories. The puppeteers, controlling all the fictional characters, become characters themselves. I would have never imagined the camaraderie that is aroused between two people living hundreds of miles apart; the love you can feel for someone you have never physically met? I have sisters in different states. Brothers that can put a smile on my face in under ten seconds, that live in cities I have never heard of. You start to share your life with these people. And whether you’re holed up in a room by yourself, or you’re signed into an internet cafe downtown, you start to live.
Hello again,
28 Nov 2010 Leave a Comment
– this is something new.
Under the watchful cover of a Georgian spring moon, two pairs of eyes flashed brightly in the darkness, looking into one another with a tone that could be only loving.
“I’m telling you,” she started with a giggle, “I am getting so old I can’t remember your name, much less mine!”
The sly graze of his eyes in her direction signaled her unfortunate play on words. Damn it, she scolded herself, rolling her eyes at his next words with a shake of her head. Too easy.
“I’ll make you remember my name,” Josh spoke at last, moving his hand from where it rested comfortably on her stomach to the top of her right shoulder. In the dark, Amanda raised her eyebrow but it was lost to the pitch black, so she could only giggle to relieve her nervousness. Even when his words have the most carefree meaning behind them, it still made her spine shiver; one day, one hour, maybe even tonight, there was going to come a time where he was serious, and a rebellious (big) part of her couldn’t wait for it. She couldn’t wait for him to ooze that cocky confidence that he hid deep in himself, knowing that the little girl inside her waiting to be tamed would eat it up.
“Uh-huh,” she muttered so that she didn’t have to verbally respond, but her body turned sideways toward him, and her feet brush against his ankles. It was touching him, smelling the boy scent off his skin and clothes and feeling what it felt like against her fingertips – that is what she loved the most. It would also be the memory she clung to most once he was gone.
A few stray pieces of hair fell onto her face as she moved, and he touched two fingers, sweeping them up and behind her ear, to tuck it back into place. Soft sighs escaped from both their breaths at the same time. He was the one to laugh this time.
“You’re hair’s gotten longer,” Josh mused, rubbing the ends of a strand between his fingers gingerly before laying it back on her shoulder. His proximity and his breath softly moving just below her neck was making her heart jump and smack against her ribcage, but Amanda remained silent, even as he brought two of his fingers down against her side. Her reflex was to shy away from a man touching anywhere near her stomach or legs, but this was Josh; he said he loved her, and she had finally allowed herself to believe that maybe he was telling the truth. This wasn’t going to be another screw up. This was her Josh, and he was tied into too many aspects of her life now for her to feel that self-conscious around him.
His hand flattened out against the dip in her side again before it moved up and over her hip, and curled gently around her upper thigh. As it moved, he rubbed in small circles slowly, creating a massaging effect that did wonders to her comfort level. She wanted to kiss him. But with her eyes closed, her mouth perched in a near purr after his hand began its path, she could neither see or sense him.
Kiss me, her body said. Her hand wrapped over his bicep, squeezing a little, as his hand dropped lower down her thigh, only grazing the inside near her knee before it pulled back up to her hip. Amanda wasn’t sure about his breathing, but she was so sure that her own was beginning to sound like panting. Not that he would mind that, she though playfully, and that idea made her open her eyes.
His bright blue eyes were moving over her face thru the dark lighting of her room, looking at her hair spread out on her pillow, and the lower lip that was caught painfully between her teeth. She’d once told him it was a nervous habit – did he remember that?
She gulped.
“What are you thinking?” she asked nervously, scooting her torso even closer, and maybe moving her hips just a little bit closer to his too. One of her feet moved up his ankle and settled her calf between his. It was intimate. It was nerve-wracking.
Josh shrugged, smiling in that way she loved so much that showed all his teeth. It wasn’t just his smile she loved. He had become the sole beneficiary to her romantic interest, and she could feel her mind and heart both falling in love with him.
“I was just thinking how much I love being here right now.” His left hand cradled the side of her face briefly and dropped down to her neck. It forced most of the silent breath of her lungs. “How much I like being able to just lay here with you without all the motives and drama outside.” Both their eyes flicked toward the ceiling, where her mom and step-dad lay side-by-side, grouchy and oblivious to any real concept of love between them. It was sad, really, but she could think of nothing else but him when he was connected to her by so many points of skin. Her tank top suddenly felt like nothing, her drawstring pajama pants like high-cut shorts that left nothing to the imagination.
“I love you,” she whispered, emboldened by his presence. His breath did that little stutter thing that made her think she might have done something right, and his eyes closed for a second. Feeling even more brave from his lack of response, she pulled herself up so that they were more face to face. After so many months, there was nothing that separated the two of them but a few wisps of air. Amanda brought a hand up to each side of his face and smoothed her thumbs across his cheekbones.
“Hey,” she said softly. When his eyes opened, she continued, “Believe me?”
He needed to see it, to see the love that shone in her eyes when he wasn’t even around. He needed to understand that she didn’t see him as he saw himself – as something undeserving of the things she wanted to give him – because when he was gone he needs to know without a drop of doubt that someone out there thought he was beautiful, funny, crazy, and loved him for all of it.
There was clear hesitation in his voice when he mumbled, “Sometimes…”
She shook her head.
“Please believe me.”
And with a breath that smelled entirely of him, she pushed forward and swept her lips up against his.
Let me tell you Guys something. . .
07 Nov 2010 Leave a Comment
in Icy November., Life 'n Stuff, Sunday Tags: attitude, boys, lecture
Women are smart. Women are to be treasured, not treated like meat or mules — not specifying myself this time, but this post does spawn from something that happened to me today. The expression “a woman’s intuition” is not figurative, but literal, and it is not something you should underestimate.
When you approach a lady, and I do mean lady and not tramp, doing something that makes you look dorky or maybe even a little corny is absolutely okay! In my opinion, it makes you look more open to accepting the many traits that make us look dorky. Most women pull their strongest and most bubbly personalities when others around them seem nervous, including myself.
But something that is too staged or too practiced, like a terrible pick-up line, or sleazy size-up from across the room, is not going to impress her; in fact, it would probably turn a lady off. It will make her suspicious, so — Honest to God — be yourself, even if yourself isn’t the coolest, or most attractive person they could be. Honesty can never make a bad first impression, so try a little of that next time you’re planning on hitting on a girl in a crude or overtly sexual manner.
A guy so very ignorant to this concept tried to pick me up this morning while I was working my 7-4pm shift at our local breakfast joint. He actually came back to the counter and asked for a job application just so he could talk to me, and in the same sentence he asked if he could have my Name, Number for a “reference” on the application. Instantly, of course, I knew the whole thing was bullshit. I almost asked for the application back so we wouldn’t just waste the paper, but I thought that might give the wrong impression to him. Despite the fact that he wasn’t my type, looked way too old for me, and had a glaze to his eyes that signaled a little trouble to me, I thought if he was brave enough to ask for my number, that maybe I should give him a shot. It is not every day that I’m approached like this. Also, if someone has the kahones to ask, that has to say something positive about their personality, right?
Well our text conversation continued through the day; I learned that his name was Zac, that he was 24 (a whole 6 years jump from my own age), and that he thought I was beautiful despite the horrible get up I must wear to work. At first, I was so impressed with his bluntness and how sincere he seemed, that I was gladly responding to him. But through the few hours that passed next, his words became less cute, and more vulgar. Asking for pictures of me that I didn’t have and would never take (or give for that matter), talking about different parts of my anatomy he really shouldn’t mention unless he wanted to seem sleazy, and going so far as to send me pictures of his own anatomy. Deleted. Erased. Gone, thank God.
And what did this chameleon male say when I promptly told him I was not that type of girl, and that I was interested in someone else? He said, word-for-word, “I’m not tryin to marry you and I saw it in your eyes you wanted me.” If I have a single guy reader, anywhere out there in the world, please read the following sentence carefully and accept it into your heart: If you want to hear a girl laugh, tell her what she’s thinking. Because I promise you that no matter how sensitive you are, you’re probably way off in left field.
Not only was he wrong, but he also raised a giant red flag with that sentence and a few following this statement, which led to him being ignored completely. His name has been changed to “That Dick Zac Guy” in my phone, and if it is even possible I am now more cautious over what kind of guy I’ll look at twice.
So, again: women are smart, and they are to be treasured. If you have one, grab her and hold her close; if you don’t have one, keep looking. She’s looking for you too, actively.
Addicted.
27 Oct 2010 Leave a Comment
in Beauty, Brand New, May Bee, Warmth Tags: boys, warmth
I am too petrified to feel hopeful, but too blissed to be pessimistic.
MyMathCat.
13 Oct 2010 Leave a Comment
in Chill, Warmth Tags: Math 1111
Cat for catastrophe!
Apparently, I just received my first failing grade in college. It was a 57 on a chapter test, three points from a “D” which is unacceptable in itself — it was my worst subject: Math 1111. The teacher didn’t give us adequate time to finish because she is a bit of an illterate-to-technology twit and the test was online; despite that, she is a sweetheart so you have to give her that. Still, I believe that even with another hour or two of time, my score would have still been quite low. Maybe not as low as it turned out to be, but somewhere in that margin.
I glance around the room now to the faces of my peers, and nearly every one wears a face of anxiety. Between the test we just took, and the impending homework assignments, each section of which includes nearly 50 questions and are five sections in total, we are all feeling hot little coals under our feet; I may be feeling it most of all. I am in college on a federal grant, and I have to keep up my grade point average if I want to keep my financial aid requirements, and stay in college.
Teacher is back. Gotta run. Later, wordpress!
“Just Perfect”.
27 Sep 2010 Leave a Comment
in Another End, As Summer Closes, September Again Tags: ache
Not a poem, but a story, #2 in the short line of them. The repetition is not meant to be lyrics, or lines of poetic wit — it’s something I wrote, something extra hard for me, and I wanted to share.
This one’s it, folks.
“Just Perfect”
You are perfect
God you seem so perfect
You are perfect for me.
We were a match made with wit and games,
an erotic display of knowledge
with more than a bit of struggle for power.
And in the end
you made love to college, and you fell for her,
and I stay here in my lonely skin.
You were perfect
God you seemed so perfect
I was reluctant to see.
- – -
You are perfect
God you seem so perfect
You are perfect for me.
I never thought I’d be involved
with such an exotic sense of humor.
Music connected us across oceans,
and your smile kept us awake.
And in the end
you wanted to wait,
and I stay here in my lonely skin.
You were perfect
God you seemed so perfect
I was reluctant to see.
- – -
You are perfect
God you seem so perfect
You are perfect for me.
You claimed the first brush of my lips
and to you I held the fastest.
Words were said, and things exchanged,
and I let myself believe it.
And in the end
there were things you couldn’t handle,
distance and bridges so far,
and so I stay here in my lonely skin.
You were perfect
God you seemed so perfect
I was reluctant to see.
- – -
Fin.
Disappointed
20 Sep 2010 Leave a Comment
in Another End, September Again
To whom it may concern.
How susceptible teenagers are to heartache! Some guys, and some girls too, just don’t know their own strength. They don’t know how much they effect you — or how easily their words can tear at your hide. At my hide. At what I thought was my heart. I’ve wanted to make a post here for quite a while, but I couldn’t bear it. As angry, as sad and DISAPPOINTED I was, I fought against letting you see it. I allowed myself to feel something for someone who was real, who was right here at my hand or in my arms, and it was all just a disappointment. A final letdown, proving to me what I always thought before. I am not worth another’s love, that word rolls off my tongue with a sickening thud, or at least not his. It’s all shit, with a motherfuckload of excuses, and I’m tired of thinking about, dreaming about it, wondering whether I should believe what I’m told, or what I fear is the reason for his neglect. My friends act shocked — ‘You spoke so highly of him!’ ‘He sounded like such a nice guy….’ — coupled with sad frowns and pitiful eyes, as they go home at night to their beloved boys. No one is perfect, neither he nor I nor our “unfortunate situation”, but fuck, why does it all have to happen now? Why couldn’t this one thing just work out and prove me wrong. < It’s not a question, just frustrated observation.
I am someone who keeps emails and text messages, and replays sweet whispers over and over in my head until they lose their meaning, wordpress you know this. But I’ve since recorded in detail what I remember, and then I made myself forget it. The record I still own, but I’m trying to forget, and so scared to forget in the same instant. I’m scared that if I ever saw or talked to him again that I would feel that want to get to know you again sensation as I did with David, and Raph.
But this is different, he is different, because he was right fucking here, in Georgia, a mere hour away, and still he made a choice not to see me. Because he didn’t want to, excuses be damned. My mom always says, you can’t squeeze blood out of a turnip. It’s not going to happen, no matter how much you force it or will it to produce that way. So the feelings, emotions, and immature actions of another, I cannot control. Be happy, having dinner with ex’s and making plans with friends, and one day I’ll be happy too. With someone else, somewhere else, far from this hurt and these stupid, wonderful fucking memories.
An Ode to a Peach
13 Aug 2010 Leave a Comment
in As Summer Closes, Beauty, Need For Comfort, Warmth Tags: ode, peach, poems
The pleasure lies no on its layered surface, not on the smooth, wrinkled face, but beneath.
Read between the colors of bright red, corals of pink and light. Escape through its mantle and saturate yourself with the glistening red, ruby feeling. Bursting texture. Hope of summer with every smell.
Feel the weight of it in your palm.
As warm as blushed skin set aflame, and as delicate too, take care not to bruise or treat it badly. Good southern gentleman, take care. Surrending its supple flavour to you with every taste, its aroma through each inhale. Exhale. It is precious.
Take and catch your breath slowly, so as not to startle her, but hold steadfast, your lips enamored to do their bidden work.
Now bite.
rawr.
It’s me again! : ) I’m back to my writing, inspired by a Fanfiction, no less, to start keeping a journal. If I want to write, to draw, compose, whatever (hell, I can doodle, it’s mine), I will. Sometimes I’ll share the things out of there, like this little story/poem/ode, and other times I won’t. It’s very private very…personal.
WordPress, my life is about to get very, very hectic. I can feel it — the preverbial STORM on the horizon, brewing and churning, and within its clutches: lightning! thunder! rekindling? Oh, but there’s a chance.
I know that I still talk in circles, but that is necessary these days more than ever, so it simply can’t be helped.
I will be working until this Sunday, then I have three days off, but if you think that means I’ll have more of a chance to post, say, here, you are very mistaken. My mother has taken it upon herself to keep constant tabs on me next week, the week of my eighteenth birthday. Now I’ve promised her the day, but the week? The way we fight and argue, I’m doubting that’ll turn out very good for either one of us. And there is a strong chance of my ex-love-interest visiting around the mid-week, so things are bound to get interesting with him meeting the family for the first time. My current love-interest, aw hell, my current love, 
was trusted to meet the folks after weeks, whereas I’ve known David for over a year now and he’s only getting the chance to meet mom this week. Goes to show the difference between them I guess. I’m not so sure this introduction will go as smoothly as the last, but I can only cross my fingers and toes and pray that there is no fallout concerning the people I care about.
I have just come in from looking at the crescent red (orangish, I guess) moon, the closest-planet-to-us-right-now Mars, and from watching the meteor shower from Comet P-whathitzface passing too close to the Earth. I used the ancient telescope given to me by a creepy teenage family friend, and studied for about a half hour until the mosquitoes drove me under cover.
Peach had a photoshoot for this poetic addition. So here are some of the outtakes:
-
- the ode to a peach#1
Love me, (Lie to Me – poem)
03 Aug 2010 Leave a Comment
in As Summer Closes, Beauty, Good Moods Tags: Dreams, emotions, no lies, poems
Lie to me, my sweet,
lie and make me believe
so that I might accept these
delusions of grandeur
and no longer envy
those of sane mind and conscience.Lie to me, my love,
and promise that you’ll stay here
by my side
until the last shade of white
leaves my skin,
and my thoughts lose their sense.Lie to me, oh dear,
the dark is coming fast.
It arrives now
to cut the tendons,
the ties,
that bind me to this world
and you.So lie to me, my sweet,
to keep me unaware.
Tell me of great cities,
brilliant men,
and delicate pretties.
Do this deed for me,
so I can rest with peace
and comfort,
sure that my life has been
so fulfilled with wonder.
I wrote this poem some time last year, while I was still in a very negative mindframe. I really did think that I could never have a man care for me truly, and felt that lies would be necessary to sustain such a fake relationship. I’m not so negative anymore — people have come into my life and changed me for the better.
That is not to say that I still don’t have things I need to work on. Like my habit of overthinking everything. It should be so easy just to let everything go and enjoy what makes me happy, and ignore the things that try and depress me. I have to learn that nothing and no one is perfect, no one can read my mind even if they know me really well. So I have to suck it up and just let the things that bother me roll off my back.
One thing I’ve taken to lately has been recounting memories. There are little details one observes in the heat of a moment, and they don’t realize how memorable those details become until later. As a writer, editer, and a dreamer 
, my imagination is vast, and I’m still young so my memory’s pretty sharp. I remember colors and images, smells, words, whispers, the feeling of touch.. etc. Emotions are triggered — do you cry or bust out laughing, and I mean the har,har,har laughing, from just a memory?
I still think the poem is beautiful — I don’t remember what inspired me to write it, but I assume I was in one of those moods where I just feel like I need to get something out. When I feel like this I usually either write or post here (which is close to the same thing, an expression).
Oh, and as a note, the Staff at poem.org helped me perfect this poem with a few suggestions in word changes and line distribution. The words and the feelings are mine, as is the idea, but they helped me perfect my product.
Today I’ve been in a wonderful mood — I bet it’s that new policy of just letting things go that’s making me feel better. That, and I’ve been getting alot more sleep lately. I now sleep with a box fan three feet from my face, all the lights off and complete silence. Mmm.. speaking of sleep. It may only be 10:30, and I may have slept in once I got home from work, but I did get up at 4:22 this morning, so I think I’ll be heading to bed soon.
I have plans to go see my cousin Chris sometime this week, probably Thursday — and the fact that he lives close to Devin’s house is just a plus.. =) I’m not positive that I’ll be able to find a ride there and back, but I’ll be damned if I won’t try. It’s been at least a year since I saw Chris.
Night, loves! I’m going to try to go make my eyes numb watching Criminal Minds and reading “Dead in the Family” – by Charlaine Harris.
Genesis,
20 Jul 2010 Leave a Comment
in Beauty, Good Moods, The Start of Summer, Warmth Tags: beauty, boys, love, Music
Now with this ring, I promise that I’ll be
faithful and true, devoted to you through it all.
And I’ll gladly be your one and everything
right by your side, a shoulder when you cry if you fall.
And I love you more with every day that ends,
it’s like I’m falling in love over and again.You’re everything that my life’s been missing
and now I can’t believe this is happening to me.
Through the good, and bad, the happy, and the sad
you won’t be away from home, you’ll never be alone
from LA to Rome.I couldn’t dream a better life,
without you right there by my side.
Sometimes the little girl in me just breaks through and attaches herself to songs like this one, “From LA to Rome” by Chester See. It’s mainly used for weddings and anniversary parties, because of it’s ubber-cheesiness and comments on rings and devotion. I started the quote from my favorite part in the song “Now with this ring…”; I think I love that part so much because I’m driving toward marriage with my life. Though I still cannot fathom anyone dealing with my shit for the years it takes to engage, and then the decades after through marriage, a girl can still dream.
I may have actually changed my thoughts about becoming a mother. I had a conversation with my step-grandfather, who I just call granddaddy, and I’m not sure if he knew how powerful his words struck me, but when he spoke of me being a good mother, and the beautiful power I’d feel just when that baby is born, it reminded me of his late wife, and I had to blink back tears. I miss Becky, grandmamma, a lot, especially when I spend time with him. She was litereally the center of his world, as he took care of her for most of her life due to her hearing and sight problems, and with her gone it’s like his gravity has been thrown out of whack. He was her satellite, and now, without her holding him here, I worry about him a lot. How do you live healthily through the rest of your days when your reason for being dies?
Believe it or not, I hadn’t meant for this post to seem so sad. My mood is actually the opposite: In the past five weeks, I have smiled, laughed, and thought about more positive things than I ever have in my life. And, ha, because you know me so well wordpress, you know it’s because of a boy. Well, that boy. He just gets me in ways my mother of 18 years doesn’t, and he speaks words that just leave me…baffled. How could someone feel that way about me? I mean me. Maybe I just have self-esteem issues to battle, but I adore all these things about him. Devin — that’s his name if I have not already introduced him to you — is worth going through all the bad “relationships” in the past. He is goofy and makes me laugh, he’s just a beautiful person, inside and out. Definitely out. I’m a sucker for the eyes, and his blue ones? Oy..
This has been a year of firsts for me, some completely heartbreaking, and others, like this relationship I’m on the cusp of, completely wonderful.
To my little wordpressers out there: keep your music cranked up, your hearts open, and your eyes sharp.
I love you,
amaroq.
