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    1. it's been a month since the last thread, so i think it's time for a new one of these. here you can share some of the projects that you're working on (of any kind, be they digital, physical, or...

      it's been a month since the last thread, so i think it's time for a new one of these. here you can share some of the projects that you're working on (of any kind, be they digital, physical, or whatever) that wouldn't really work as its own post.

      13 votes
    2. #19 by Lawrence Ferlinghetti So rent a museum and see yourself in mirrors- In every room an exposition of a different phase in your life with all your figures and faces and pictures of all the...
                                                    #19 by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
      

      So rent a museum
      and see yourself in mirrors-
      In every room an exposition
      of a different phase in your life
      with all your figures and faces
      and pictures of all the people who
      passed through you
      and all the scenes
      you passed through
      all the landscapes of living
      and longing and desiring
      and spending and getting
      and doing and dying
      and sighing and laughing and crying
      (what antic gesturing!)
      And walking through the house of yourself
      you climb again to all
      the rooms of youself
      full of the other lives & selves
      who passed through them
      Rooms rooms rooms
      piled up haphazard
      in the architecture of time
      And all the bodies clinging to each other
      or rushing to windows
      to break out of the room
      which they boxed themselves into
      All the people of your life
      in one house in the night
      all lights lit
      like a cruise ship at sea
      And you run up and down
      knocking on all the doors
      through which you hear
      all the once-familiar voices
      laughing or sobbing or singing
      And you run to the roof
      and look up to the mute night sky
      And in the wheeling template of stars
      see the faces of the figures
      of the lovely lovers who
      had once made time stand still
      now all fixed
      in their constellated relations
      motionless in time

      So that
      some day
      as time bends around
      to its beginning again
      you find them all again
      and yourself

      4 votes
    3. So, a little background, my profession is technical writing. I want to write a novel but I'm struggling a little with getting the creative side of my brain going. Technical writing seems to...

      So, a little background, my profession is technical writing. I want to write a novel but I'm struggling a little with getting the creative side of my brain going. Technical writing seems to further inhibit my creativity with all its rules.

      I'm looking into local writers' workshops but they're all full at the moment. In the meantime, I was wondering if anyone here has any advice for exercises or things I could do to stimulate my creativity and free my mind from all the rules of technical writing. Thoughts?

      7 votes
    4. Hey everyone, thanks to you who posted in the original Workshop Wednesday; I think it went really well! Here we are for week 2 (sorry it took me til noon, I was busy this morning!) Some questions:...

      Hey everyone, thanks to you who posted in the original Workshop Wednesday; I think it went really well! Here we are for week 2 (sorry it took me til noon, I was busy this morning!)

      Some questions:

      • do we need a new topic every week? Or will one be enough?
      • any other comments/suggestions?

      Please begin your comment with [META] to discuss these. Otherwise, I'll copy and paste the guidelines from last week.


      What's a workshop?

      Basically, a workshop is when you have a bunch of people with poems or stories they've written, and everyone gets together, reads everyone's work, and comments on it, sharing what they got out of it and what the author could do to improve the work for publication. I used to do a lot of them in college, and I've missed the dynamic since graduating. I thought others might also be interested, so here goes nothing.

      How this'll work (for now, anyway)

      Each week, I'll post a "Workshop Wednesday" post. If you have a poem or (short) story you'd like workshopped, post that as a top comment. Then, read others' top comments and reply with what works/doesn't work/questions you have/ideas you have for the piece that could make it better. If you post some writing, try to comment on at least two other people's pieces as well -- we're here to help each other improve.

      11 votes
    5. Man of the Train

      Another story. The narrator is not well and slips into periods of "extended daydreaming" where they image they're someone else or that the context of their life is otherwise different. I thought...

      Another story. The narrator is not well and slips into periods of "extended daydreaming" where they image they're someone else or that the context of their life is otherwise different. I thought about coloring the text differently for those moments but couldn't figure out a way to do it well.


      No one walks out to this place. Why would they? It’s too far for children to be playing or for teenagers to sneak away to, there’s no beauty or interesting landscapes or scenery for hikers, and God knows it’s worthless for development. I walked out here because I knew I couldn’t stay at home and I kept walking because I knew I had nothing to go back to. Then, brooding, thinking that I would just continue walking until I died of exposure (which would have taken a while in that day’s mild weather), I stumbled across this place. I stopped to explore it of course, how often does one’s life yield such a whimsical sight?

      I started daydreaming as I walked through the trains. They looked ancient, the cars were buried up to their wheels in the dirt and huge patches had lost their paint and rusted over. The interiors were stripped, but I spotted some kind of hatch in the roof (by the pile of leaves and other debris below it) and clambered up. Then I was standing astride the car looking down at the whole scene. Two neat little rows, five cars in one and four in the other, with the only sign tracks used to run here being a small corridor where the trees were shorter.

      I loved it. It was a sort of post-industrial twist on the railway bum, you know? They would hitch rides on trains and travel all over the country, seeing everything it had to offer and adventuring everywhere they went. I had, in the past, been disappointed I didn’t live in a time where the vagabond could thrive, and was delighted to imagine the 21st century equivalent. Sitting in a rusted old abandoned train car, the Seeker (I always name my characters like that) sat by his gas fire watching the rain pour down and spatter across the corrugated walls. It was lovely. I felt much better and after playing around a bit more headed back home with a smile, all the while dreaming of the Seeker. The evening passed comfortably and I slid into sleep imagining I was the man sleeping out by the trains.

      I pulled my blanket closer, clutching it around myself. I had found something, and tonight II was able to rest peacefully because of it. The night breeze flowed over me in soft, regular breaths. It was sweet and pleasantly cool, and carried memories of cheery days. All else faded always as I walked into them, leaving behind the blanket and the breeze and the night itself.

      When I got up the next morning though the levity had vanished. I dragged myself through the morning and lacking anything real to do and completely out of distractions for the afternoon I headed out for another wander in the woods. Alone with just the half-leafless trees to speak to I very quickly fell into my thoughts and my world of pasts, real or imagined. I don’t know how long I walked, just that after a while my breath was coming out in ragged bursts and that I was approaching the top of a hill. Attaining it I realized with gloomy resignation that I was somewhat lost, and that the cup of tea I was desiring now more than most anything would be a while yet. As I started back in the direction I more or less thought town was I imagined how the Seeker had trudged through the same damp leaves and browning grass. Autumn would quickly change from the mild early days to the coldness that marked the start of winter, and this landscape would be unrecognizable. Even this escape would not last. Just like them. More gloominess. Pushing through a thicket of young trees I was surprised to be face to face with the train wrecks from yesterday, and, after briefly marveling at the occurrence started back home. I was throwing off my shoes and starting the kettle in just over an hour.

      At home I picked, for some foolish reason, the blue teapot (of memories) and was soon sitting at the table and warming my hands on a steaming cup. I was shivering. Sometimes I don’t realize how cold I am until I’m back inside. I need to dress warmer. For a while I could pretend to be content sipping at my tea and feeling myself thaw out a little, but after a few cups I started thinking about what I would do for the rest of the day. That’s why I had gone out in the first place wasn’t it, that I had nothing here? I didn’t feel warm anymore. And since I had picked this pot (it was three years ago, why should I care?) my thoughts slid further and further back until I was recalling the conversation we had over it. And how I had laughed and taken your picture holding it and you had smiled as the wind whipped your hair back and I couldn’t stand sitting there and looking at it anymore. I fled to the couch and fell face first down into it.

      What was I doing? I couldn’t sit here for another eight hours waiting to go to bed and dream, I was gripped with sinking panic just at the thought. No, I couldn’t stay. And I didn’t have to. If I could tell myself a story about it, I could do it myself, right? I could just leave. I could make it real. Go to another town, or sleep in a car, or, go camping. Yes, I could camp for the night. I did tell people I was an outdoorsman after all, even if for the past few years I hadn’t done anything more than day hikes to run from my reality. I had all the gear, I knew what I was doing.

      Twenty minutes later I was out the door, heading back the woods for the second time today, this time with my pack slung across my shoulders. As I walked I thought about how unpleasant this would probably be and I was pleased. At least it would be because of something else. Something immediate. I went to the trains because where else would I go and also because I knew they were isolated and I wanted to be sure no one would be out harassing me over lighting a fire or being a vagrant. It was perfect.

      And as evening fell the fire was lit. I had set camp in between the two rows of derelict cars to provide some shelter from the wind.

      The heat from the flames sank into the metal siding of the cars and soon they were radiating back a friendly warmth. Touching it felt almost like being warmed by the sun. I leaned back against one now and stared at the fire. It was a comfortable scene, even if the ground was cold and hard and all I had to do was sit and think and brood. It was basically what I would have done at home anyway, but now I was not drawn into despair. No, out here all these feelings were beautiful, and if it was beautiful I could enjoy it. Some time and drinks passed and I became outright elated. Considering the whole absurdity of where I was right now I had to laugh. I might curse my life every day, but it was, if nothing else, interesting. Even if I was the only one who would ever know. Just look at where I am! I grinned and kept laughing and drinking and soaking up the intoxicating woodsmoke and tender light that flowed from the fire. I loved that this was something I did. And later as the flames hid back in their coals I climbed into my tent and floated right away on a dreamless, happy sleep. Lord of my little realm of heat and smoke. Good times for all. All for good times.

      I sat at the edge of fire’s light clutching my cup closely. It was a bitter tea, what one could brew with just a cup over a camp fire, but I sipped at it greedily anyway, burning my lips on the rim. It would hold the blaze’s heat for a while yet, the cup was almost painful to handle even through my gloves, now streaked with ash. It had been a long, cold day. I had almost lost myself, but now, resting in the half-light at the edge of reality, it was alright. I smiled and, tipping my head ever so slightly up, whistled out a few bars of some song or another. Yes, here it was alright. There was a lot I didn’t know, but that was fine, I knew I was, as was the fire and the smoke and the warmth and the tea.

      I refocused on the fire, source of the little world I had found myself in. It was as if I were gazing through into my own light. A welcome feeling, as I had felt a dull cold more than anything recently. I looked more intently, allowing the firelight to wash out the surroundings until I and it were all that existed. Like this I could see hints, now and then, of what had been. Perhaps if I looked too greedily the flames would even take me then, shattering the gracious illusion of the light in the process. No, echos would have to do. They were all that was real anyway. I stared for a long while, lost in burning contemplation.

      That was a... number of days ago. I haven’t counted exactly. For the first few I was at home most of the day, only heading out for the trains in the evening. The first morning I didn’t plan to come back at all and tore my whole camp down. But around mid afternoon my listlessness would become unbearable and I’d flee from the prospect of another night in. So I started leaving my tent pitched, figuring I’d do this as some kind of therapy until I got better and figured out what I was going to do with myself. And I did get better! Or at least the more time I spent in the woods the less time I was sinking in the mire of my thoughts and the more I marveled at them. Maybe they were still dragging me down, but I didn’t notice anymore. Soon I was spending the afternoons out as well, and then I was only going back home in the morning to grab food and water.

      I’ll probably be forced out by the weather soon. It’s been getting much colder these past days, but I don’t want to leave yet, I like this routine. I like the work of building the little stone wall, or clearing the ground around the fire pit I’m slowly carving out of the stiff ground, or sketching my map of the area around the camp. It was more than I had back there.

      As the last of the purple in the sky was swept away by the darkening blue I stretched out alongside the newly rekindled fire. I had known for days that I was not going to find it here. I would have to go back and see what was next for me. But it was comfortable here, and for that I could pretend I had a reason to stay, at least for a little while longer. Yes, I’ll have to leave soon, but for now I can just enjoy the fire. I can walk in dream a little while longer.

      9 votes
    6. So I was talking to @cadadr in this thread about starting a workshop on Tildes, and since today makes for an alliterative title, I thought I'd start one now. What's a workshop? Basically, a...

      So I was talking to @cadadr in this thread about starting a workshop on Tildes, and since today makes for an alliterative title, I thought I'd start one now.

      What's a workshop?

      Basically, a workshop is when you have a bunch of people with poems or stories they've written, and everyone gets together, reads everyone's work, and comments on it, sharing what they got out of it and what the author could do to improve the work for publication. I used to do a lot of them in college, and I've missed the dynamic since graduating. I thought others might also be interested, so here goes nothing.

      How this'll work (for now, anyway)

      Each week, I'll post a "Workshop Wednesday" post. If you have a poem or (short) story you'd like workshopped, post that as a top comment. Then, read others' top comments and reply with what works/doesn't work/questions you have/ideas you have for the piece that could make it better. If you post some writing, try to comment on at least two other people's pieces as well -- we're here to help each other improve.

      Going forward

      Since this is the first one, obviously we can change the format or do something else. Please start meta-discussions with the word [META] so that we know it's not a poem you're trying to workshop!

      I'm excited. Let's do this!

      22 votes
    7. I have writing, prose and in verses, that I want to start submitting to magazines. I can't decide if I should use a pseudonym or not. My reasons for using one: I have problems with my name: it is...

      I have writing, prose and in verses, that I want to start submitting to magazines. I can't decide if I should use a pseudonym or not. My reasons for using one:

      • I have problems with my name: it is ideologically loaded, people can tell my dad was a nationalist, which is an ideology I reject and oppose

      • I feel like it would somehow good for me to distance myself a bit from my work, don't know why really

      • I guess I am intimidated by potential failure a bit, so maybe "getting my feet wet" with a pseudonym could help me get over it.

      But I also want to own my work, and feel like using a pseudonym with complete secrecy is a bit... cowardly, if I am totally honest. I consider using a pseudonym which I will publicly own later, but then, is there a point to it?

      What do you think about it?

      19 votes
    8. I used to work as an artist full-time, and I've learned a few tricks over the years to help me create consistently, even when I don't feel very creative. I recently read a book called "The War of...

      I used to work as an artist full-time, and I've learned a few tricks over the years to help me create consistently, even when I don't feel very creative.
      I recently read a book called "The War of Art" by Steven Pressfield that hit on a lot of what I've discovered and presented a lot more insight on the subject of creating and overcoming blocks.

      So I'd love to hear what helps all of you out there stay creative and spark the muse. Are you willing to share your process and approach?

      16 votes
    9. this seems like a good time to bring back this question and maybe make it more consistent and recurring since there's just been an influx of new people. i last asked this about three months ago...

      this seems like a good time to bring back this question and maybe make it more consistent and recurring since there's just been an influx of new people. i last asked this about three months ago and i'm sure there are both new people to answer this question and new ideas that people who already answered or would answer have come up with since.


      for my part, i did this post just now as a short little thing. on the larger scale, i've been intending to get back into editing my personal worldbuilding wiki because there's a bunch of shit i want to do with that, but college isn't exactly leaving a lot of time for it and every time i try to start on stuff gets tedious so i've been holding off on it for a little bit. i've also been chipping away at the fun that will be one of several religious books, but i don't really know how i want to structure it yet so the verses pictured and others are liable to get shuffled around at this point.

      36 votes
    10. I have a slight struggle that I wonder if anyone else can relate to. I'm a creative "type" in that both my job (scientist) and hobbies (many, over the years) require constant innovation, in...

      I have a slight struggle that I wonder if anyone else can relate to. I'm a creative "type" in that both my job (scientist) and hobbies (many, over the years) require constant innovation, in addition to the usual labor, to keep them going.

      I have a note/journal app where I store my ideas. Sometimes these are ideas with acute utility e.g. an experiment design that I can test out the next day at work or maybe an idea for a paper. Other ideas are what I would consider "highdeas" - insights or thoughts that seem amazing when you're stoned but after you sober up they're kind of nonsense. The former are productive and the latter are non-productive forms of creativity (barring any offshoots of the latter that prove useful later on).

      But then sometimes I get idea in-between. Say, an insight into how certain human behaviors are a certain way or maybe a rant on a topic/issue in my lab work that is interesting but not valuable enough to publish or bring up in a formal meeting. My question / discussion topic for you, is, what do you do with these sort of self-ascribed interesting ideas that have no immediate value? One option is to write them out on a forum, as I am currently doing, but I would end up writing all day. Does anyone else keep track of these? Do you schedule a follow-up with these intermediate ideas for future inspiration? I currently use Joplin which is great but I don't think there are any features to stimulate creativity in this manner.

      23 votes
    11. The Ceremony

      This is a short, experimental story I wrote. Hope it's interesting. As I opened my eyes the whirl of indistinction calmed and I was standing there in a room paneled in wood, rich and dark and...

      This is a short, experimental story I wrote. Hope it's interesting.


      As I opened my eyes the whirl of indistinction calmed and I was standing there in a room paneled in wood, rich and dark and polished slightly. It was time for the oath. She stood at her lectern with her book open in front of the priest, who turned to the needed page and bid her to sing, which she did, sweet and calm and certain, without dramatics or pomp. Why would she need it? It was what she was to do. She smiled, I think, her form was not clear except for the vague impression of her gently rounded cheeks and lips the color of a rose too pale a pink to be said red. And now the priest was across from me and my book opened to its song page. Seven squares, (or was it nine?), filled mid grey onto the paper ruled across with needle fine lines the color of rust. It was old, plainly, but still strong. I felt looking at the page a feeling I had never known, not quite joy or determination or happiness or fear but an immensity as if I had for a heart now an infinitely faceted gem in whose faces you could find any color if you would only let it catch the light. It was like madness melded together with a certainty so strong anything less than “it is” fails to reach it. I feared I could not voice it, and said as much to the priest. To point at the page and utter “Sing.” was his only response. And I did, tremulously and weakly, but I sang, and through it came a sweetness despite me. And it was done. Through the haze now I remember the ascent up the stairs and my body collapsing onto the white couch my head landing in her lap, and her final exclaim “_______! We are!”.

      6 votes
    12. I do web and graphic design professionally, but currently have some free time. You can see some of my work here. You would still need to pay for the domain registration (15$/year), but I could...

      I do web and graphic design professionally, but currently have some free time.

      You can see some of my work here.

      You would still need to pay for the domain registration (15$/year), but I could provide hosting.

      Bonus if you’re a starving artist, non-profit, or doing something humanitarian. I’d prefer not to do one for a business, since they should be able afford to pay someone, but feel free to make a case.

      I would build it with Wordpress and incorporate Divi so you wouldn’t be entirely dependent on me to make future edits yourself.

      I’m far from an expert and mostly do front-end, but like helping people and love the community here.

      38 votes
    13. art is trash.

      hiiiiiii everybody guess who drunk for the first time this year ayeeeee we're back i love it i hate it i miss you how damned lazy is the poet who only ever writes. how wasted is the painter who...

      hiiiiiii everybody guess who drunk for the first time this year ayeeeee

      we're back

      i love it

      i hate it

      i miss you

      how damned lazy

      is the poet

      who only ever writes.

      how wasted

      is the painter

      who drowns out his lines.

      how atrophied

      the pianist

      who cannot bend the light

      if this is art then it isn't mine.

      .

      a screw

      driver is useless

      when nails

      are the nuisance

      an easel

      is pointless

      with verbally

      mindless rhymes.

      .

      to what length in an artist?

      if you cannot wield

      every edge of the

      toolbox right?

      .

      not every thought

      is at best

      through emo

      writings expressed

      kid, sometimes

      you have to

      know your lines.

      .

      to better outline your problems.

      (better outline your problems)

      better sketch out your issues

      (guarantee she don't miss you)

      better sculpt out the tissue

      and try to attend to

      the shit you

      can only rhyme.

      .

      what a waste of an artist.

      .

      what a waste of an artist.

      .

      you call your poems cathartic

      but that's your only

      medium, right?

      .

      you wanna be a God

      you better step up

      better learn to

      do your makeup

      hopefully you learn

      to draw her thighs.

      .

      better off dead otherwise.

      .

      if you're not the greatest it's a guise.

      ich lebe noch von dir

      so if i won't be remembered

      then by your God

      i should prolly' die.

      .

      what the fuck is an artist.

      .

      wjo is reallt an aritst.

      .

      you call your poems cathartic,

      but that's your only

      medium - right?

      14 votes
    14. fuck you.

      God put me at ease deliver me to peace. if you're above deliver me to love. there's not a sign you're months without a call. i begin to think you never cared at all. in winter breezes hang me from...

      God

      put me at ease

      deliver me to peace.

      if you're above

      deliver me to love.

      there's not a sign

      you're months without a call.

      i begin to think

      you never cared at all.

      in winter breezes

      hang me from the trees.

      god i'm sick of

      never feeling enough.

      make me crease and

      break me at my knees.

      tarot prophet guide me

      with your crystal ball.

      .

      read the names i've

      written in my skin.

      banish me to walk

      alone in cold.

      hit my face and tell me

      this is it.

      kill me, say you

      never cared at all

      .

      screaming in your car

      you said you'd call the cops

      if i don't take my seatbelt off

      on our way home and walk.

      .

      screaming in our home

      you'd always slam the doors

      and leave the silence ringing

      in the halls

      .

      alone in dark i wailed

      you didn't care.

      as you sat there on your phone

      and talked and talked.

      .

      always acting like

      i wasn't there.

      even asked me to pretend

      that we were not.

      .

      remember back in college

      when you made some friends

      and tried to make me hide,

      not show me off?

      .

      tried to tell them

      i was just a friend.

      and when i protested

      god you told me off.

      .

      but when i made you mad

      how mad you went.

      and appeared inside my room

      without consent.

      .

      i walked in and found you there

      sat at my desk.

      it should've ended there

      but i regressed.

      .

      i said we would grow past it

      never did.

      always made me second guess

      the life i live.

      .

      it's not my fault

      that you stayed home alone.

      why do i slash and cry and pray

      that you'll pick up the phone.

      .

      tell me why i love you

      when it's wrong.

      .

      .

      .

      tell me why i want you

      when you're gone.

      .

      .

      .

      i want you to ignore me,

      miss my calls.

      .

      .

      .

      if at least you'll speak

      to me at all.

      fuck you.

      i'm sorry.

      i love you.

      fuck you.

      fuck you too.

      13 votes
    15. so i've just recently learned about this guy, and his work is quickly becoming a favorite of mine. i'm admittedly crazy poorly-read (is that the antonym to well-read?) when it comes to... well,...

      so i've just recently learned about this guy, and his work is quickly becoming a favorite of mine.

      i'm admittedly crazy poorly-read (is that the antonym to well-read?) when it comes to...

      well, anything besides self-help books released up to "The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck" by Mark Manson.

      and his work has been concise and just fucking accurate enough for me to enjoy.

      so i present you all,

      a journey through love, with Richard Brautigan.


      -2

      Everybody wants to go to bed

      with everybody else, they're

      lined up for blocks, so I'll

      go to bed with you. They won't

      miss us.

      in this first stage, we see that little Richie's met himself someone special, and off they go arm in arm to live happily ever after.


      Romeo and Juliet

      If you will die for me,

      I will die for you

      and our graves will be like two lovers washing

      their clothes together

      in a laundromat

      If you will bring the soap

      I will bring the bleach.

      and here we see something that, personally, i found surprising from a poet who got his start in the 50s.

      this piece emulates the incendiary, passionate, limitless love that some of us have been lucky enough to experience in the early years of our lives. the love where it's the both of you against the world. the love where the most mundane tasks seem incredulous solely because they're done together. the love that i have only seemed to find in life, through trauma bonding.

      their love is powerful. their love is radiant.


      I Feel Horrible, She Doesn't

      I feel horrible. She doesn't

      love me and I wander around

      like a sewing machine

      that's just finished sewing

      a turd to a garbage can lid.

      their love is over.

      the crass yet poignant imagery somehow simultaneously flashing feelings of uselessness, self-loathing, and loss.

      you are here.


      Haiku Ambulance

      A piece of green pepper

      fell

      off the wooden salad bowl:

      so what?

      the sheer stoicism here is inspiring to me.

      this is the mindset that i want - and don't have the emotional energy to cultivate.

      were Brautigan still around and kickin' today, i'd buy the man a shot of the best whiskey i could get with $7 and thank him for emulating the exact mindset i want, need, and desire

      in four lines.

      it's simple - the green paper is a fraud, illusory. from afar or even from near with a quick glance - the green paper is another leafy green of the salad. a leaf of lettuce, a bit of cabbage. even if you press your face into the bowl and smell, the paper will smell of salad and nothing but.

      it falls onto the floor, you pick it up to throw it away. you notice the texture inapropos with more roughness, and frailty than a leaf of a vegetable. you test it - you tear it.

      it was paper.

      it was not the spinach you'd desired.

      it was not real.

      it was not what you wanted.

      regardless of the time you've spent preparing the salad, chopping your veg, blending your dressing, tossing it all, and fixing it for presentation,

      if you throw this paper out - it will be no loss, and your salad will only be better for it.

      a green piece of paper fell off the wooden salad bowl.

      so what?


      Love Poem

      the piece that brought Brautigan in to my attention in the first place.

      It's so nice

      to wake up in the morning

      all alone

      and not have to tell somebody

      you love them

      when you don't love them

      any more.

      resolve.

      clarity.

      peace.

      the earlier bleach has gone unsipped. she has come, she has gone. he has suffered, he has grown.

      and now, he is at peace.

      his world back to...

      normal.


      this has been a journey through love with Richard Brautigan.

      5 votes
    16. I'VE GOT red wine nicotine fresh chocolate chip cookies the plaid heated blanket that keeps me cuddled up in the recliner that doubles as my bed. I'VE GOT red wine daydreams moving to a different...

      I'VE GOT

      red wine

      nicotine

      fresh chocolate chip cookies

      the plaid heated blanket that keeps me

      cuddled up in the recliner that doubles

      as my bed.

      I'VE GOT

      red wine

      daydreams

      moving to a different city with a different scene

      i wanna meet new friends,

      try codeine

      find love or find drugs to console me

      I'VE GOT

      red wine

      thin skin

      pink like your soft cheeks when they're sunkissed.

      haulover beach, you were naked

      on a trip,

      and you screamed, and you screamed, and i hate it.

      I'VE GOT

      red wine

      ain't shit

      except seven little boxes full of bullshit

      old love notes kissed with red lips

      seven boxes of evidence you didn't mean shit.

      I'VE GOT

      a lotta bit of lethargy

      all my energy drained.

      i remember the day where you looked at my eyes

      and you said "babe since you met me you don't look the same"

      you looked at the bags,

      (beat.)

      and you said "that was me"

      (beat.)

      and of course i dismissed it

      said babe don't be silly

      i envisioned us happy and said that "you make me complete."

      I'VE GOT

      red wine

      white lies.

      red wine.

      red wine.

      GOT.

      red wine

      no time.

      it's time.

      lifeline.

      7 votes
    17. gripthroat grapes.

      we met in a field i plucked a fruit from your veins you encouraged me to eat i exchanged with you a name. . i kept you close inside a jar and with time, you turned sour you encouraged i add water...

      we met in a field

      i plucked a fruit from your veins

      you encouraged me to eat

      i exchanged with you a name.

      .

      i kept you close inside a jar

      and with time, you turned sour

      you encouraged i add water

      lest it be the final hour.

      .

      my glass turned pink

      with the hue of your skin

      you explained - it's drink,

      you encouraged me to sip

      .

      i never knew beauty

      like your taste upon my lips

      you are my favorite poison

      and i have now, not a drip.

      8 votes
    18. normal.

      hey this is tildes so i should talk about code. i dont type each > for the markdown individually. got a tiny function i wrote that does it for me: https://repl.it/repls/HonoredRubberyProfessional...

      hey this is tildes so i should talk about code.

      i dont type each > for the markdown individually.

      got a tiny function i wrote that does it for me: https://repl.it/repls/HonoredRubberyProfessional

      so there's that for anyone who wants an easier time formatting their thing.

      stuff at the bottom. not necessarily inspo. just.

      yeah

      i just

      want to go back

      to normal.

      normal like in 2016

      when i had a little cash

      and spent it all

      on books, coffee, clothes, teenage shit

      i was nineteen

      we had yet to meet

      back to normal

      like the centuries

      where i would never be

      from the dawn of the earth

      up to the nineties.

      back to normal

      back to friends

      back to hobbies and dreams

      back to having endless things

      that i found exciting

      back to normal

      when i'd stay up a little late

      and fall asleep, be up at 8

      and make my coffee

      not living in the night,

      sleeping in the morning.

      .

      but the meds are all a hex,

      cyanide with side effects

      take this pill if you're depressed

      now youre a narcoleptic wreck

      and your car's a crumpled mess

      so momma drives you to your check-

      ups full of shit you never said

      like how you wanna quit - dead.

      because you say something she think

      is wrong you end up in the shrink

      with all the people with the bigger problems

      thrashing as they shriek

      and you wake up on a table

      see the warden of the clink

      shoving hands into your mouth

      tryna feed you what they think

      'll fix your fucking problems.

      hooked - benzodiazepines.

      and now you're mellow, now you're numb

      for now your skin'll cease to bleed

      and still you look around in envy

      pretty people - normalcy.

      .

      i gotta get out this house

      get back to normal

      maybe she can't find me there.

      maybe i can get a text

      or get some coffee

      breathe, not even care

      'bout if i'll turn a cursed corner

      see her curly golden hair,

      and have a flashback to the nights

      spend crying lonely in despair

      as she would sit, a room away

      sipping vodka in here chair

      taking snaps and scrolling insta

      for her modelling career

      and i would wail my soul would bleed

      praying that her heart would hear

      and she would get up, come and hold me

      stroke my hair like "mama's here."

      and i could breathe

      our love immortal

      i want nothing but a world

      where i am back in full control

      through death or breath

      just make me normal.


      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5NB7RBZ1yGY

      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w--D1S8SrCQ

      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NO5JLdsNxSk | Lyrics

      9 votes
    19. I saw these things originally on Reddit that extracted the average colour of frames from films and put them together to make a colour palette for said film, the original creator has a site called...

      I saw these things originally on Reddit that extracted the average colour of frames from films and put them together to make a colour palette for said film, the original creator has a site called The Colors of Motion. I thought it would be cool to try and create a simple PowerShell script that does the same thing.

      Here are a few examples:
      Finding Nemo: https://i.imgur.com/8YwOlwK.png
      The Bee Movie: https://i.imgur.com/umbd3co.png
      Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone: https://i.imgur.com/6rsbv0M.png

      I've hosted my code on GitHub so if anyone wants to use my PowerShell script or suggest some ways to improve it feel free. You can use pretty much any video file as input as it uses ffmpeg to extract the frames.

      GitHub link: https://github.com/ArkadiusBear/FilmStrip

      17 votes
    20. currently 7 hours into a 24 hour shift that will see me through to the end of this project. this song came on that helped me find catharsis when i last felt like this in 2014. coincidentally, i'd...

      currently 7 hours into a 24 hour shift that will see me through to the end of this project.

      this song came on that helped me find catharsis when i last felt like this in 2014.

      coincidentally, i'd just finished one of my few milestones in the project

      i could take a break if i wanted to.

      i could hear the words filling themselves in, treating the song like a template.

      decided i'd take a minute to "remix" or "cover" this song for how things are going this time around.

      here's the original.

      maybe give it a listen, then jump into this piece,

      out of words now.

      bishop


      [Verse 1]
      You still cross my mind from day to day
      And I mostly cry
      Still so set on finding out where we went wrong
      and why
      So I retrace our every step with a bloodwet knife
      Trying to figure out what your head thinks
      And my head just ain't what it used to be
      So I ask,

      ...what's the point anyway?

      [Verse 2]

      I remember bringing boxes up the stairs to your apartment
      Knowing love was slipping
      rapidly away
      I remember the skin of your forehead
      Your nose and your lips I'd always kiss when I was out of things to say
      You held my hand, and you would always promise me
      You'd promise me pretty things but I would never understand
      I remember when you said you didn't love me
      And I swear not a single force on earth could stop the trembling of my hand

      [Verse 3]
      I remember how you smiled through the smoke in a crowded little coffeehouse
      And laughed at all my jokes
      And I remember the way that you dressed
      While we wasted all the best of us in alcohol and sweat
      And I remember when I knew that you'd be leaving
      How I barely kept up breathing and I bet if I could to do it all again
      I'd feel the same pain
      I remember faded driving through the city in tears
      How I wept to god in fits, I've hated Texas ever since

      I've found it's true what people say
      That death and drugs can numb the pain
      And every single day I want to fade away, cus

      [Verse 4]
      I still remember independence tricked us
      And lead us helpless holding cash into a pit to be devoured
      I still remember how we held so strong to this
      Though we had never really settled on a way out
      I still remember your blank face
      And how we'd always find a way recommit the same mistakes
      I still dream that it would all come back together
      Just to fall apart again

      [Bridge]
      My dear
      I hear your voice in mine
      I've been alone here
      I've been alone here
      I've been afraid, my dear
      I've been afraid, my dear
      I've been at home here
      I've been at home here
      You've been away for years
      You've been away for years
      I've been alone
      I've been alone
      I've been alone
      I've been alone

      [Verse 5]
      I breathed your name into the air, I etched your name into me
      I felt my anger swelling, vision black, I can't see
      I held your name inside my heart but it got buried in my fear
      It tore the wiring of my brain, I did my best to keep it clear
      So dear, no matter how we part I hold you sweetly in my head
      And if I do not miss a part of you, a part of me is dead
      If I can't love you as a lover, I will love you in my death
      Anything to see you smile, keep you happy in my end.

      3 votes
    21. hello

      hi i'm bishop and i'm the guy you probly see inside your dreams who shows up for half a second then i morph into a sheep no wait im bishop im the guy who's in the back of that one photo that you...

      hi i'm bishop
      and i'm the guy you probly see
      inside your dreams
      who shows up for half a second
      then i morph into a sheep

      no wait im bishop
      im the guy who's in the back
      of that one photo that you
      took out by the beach in
      2018 out in cabo

      hold on, no, it's bishop
      it's the person that you messaged
      when you posted up on tumblr
      needing help with your depression

      i mean

      no

      wait

      i'm bishop!

      i mean

      i'm 1930s jazz superstar Cab Calloway.
      i don't really play many instruments
      but i can sing
      i'm a throat player

      hi my name is bishop
      and i'm actor Matthew Lillard
      hah like zoinks babe, i was shaggy
      let me take you out to dinner

      but then she turned to me
      all worriedly
      i asked her "whats the problem b?"
      she said "i'm not some pretty girl,
      i'm bishop! i'm your coffee!"

      and i looked around like what the hell
      and down onto my bed i fell
      the pillow was my face
      i was the bottles on the shelf

      hi there pal, my name is bishop!
      wait i lied it's Captain Morgan!
      don't you love the way i
      can't walk straight in my own Jordans
      (that were actually pretty expensive shoes, like who pays that much for shoes? i mean i get the aesthetic and all i have some jackets that were kinda expensive but like

      ...dude.)

      (cough)

      hi my name is bishop
      but i'm really Roddy Piper
      and i'm feelin hella Rowdy cus my
      ex she made my life hurt

      i mean wait
      no

      i'm Bert Kreischer!
      i'm im a machine!
      and i'm a funny guy!
      i'm hella rich, i'll slide some money by
      if you can sing me beddie-bye

      no fuck
      i'm Tyler Perry
      i make really funny movies
      and i think you'd probly like me
      if you ever really knew me

      i mean

      im bishop
      and i eat a lot of fruit
      but i still cant seem to get rid
      of my stomach
      i've considered "fasting" before and i used to but i like to cook too much so i end up like not eating for a day and then cooking a lot (like a lot) and really enjoying that meal and the whole process but it kinda nullifies the whole thing.

      i'm gordon ramsay.

      i'm

      im chef Joel Robuchon and i have hella Michelin Stars

      and my heart burns

      i mean fuck i ate too much i'm

      im'm larry the cable guy, do you have heartburn? i could

      *sigh* sell you

      Prilosec

      i'm bishop

      i'm

      ....

      anyone but me.

      cheers

      10 votes
    22. y'already know who it is bishop - little punk bitch. 's go. no need to comment or whatever. just yelling at the internet today. Xes On My Eyes For Life. tw: self-harm/suicide/alcohol/drugs startin...

      y'already know who it is
      bishop - little punk bitch.

      's go. no need to comment or whatever. just yelling at the internet today.

      Xes On My Eyes For Life.

      tw: self-harm/suicide/alcohol/drugs


      startin off the year all
      alone inside my bedroom
      lookin back in the past
      what i been through
      how you'd pet my hair,
      cuddle close in my bedroom
      now ain't nothin but depressive
      air in the bedroom
      look what i get up to
      xans and the mushrooms
      body don't have much room
      left for me to love you
      it pushes all the air out
      in case you maybe come thru
      you took all of my breath out
      and i can't even speak you

      name into the air
      with no fingers in my hair
      sippin whiskey in my chair
      i can see your shadows here
      you told me "lay it bare, give
      your heart and boy i swear"
      from now until the day you die
      i promise i'll be there."

      now i'm broken down
      and wearing out
      your voice in my head
      get it out
      i'm gettin up and pullin down
      the liquor off the shelf

      my empty bed is
      screaming out
      i'm praying that you'll
      hear me while
      i'm masturbating moaning out
      "I'm gonna kill myself."

      Прости меня,
      Пожалуйста
      now is my time
      убей меня
      princess - зайчик
      i can't take it
      baphometic
      angel - wrists slit

      cus i'm broken down
      and wearing out
      i know the truth you
      hate me now
      i'm gettin up and pullin down
      the liquor off the shelf

      my empty bed is
      screaming out
      i'm praying that you'll
      hear me while
      i'm masturbating moaning out
      "I'm gonna kill myself."

      6 votes
    23. So Spoke Zarathustra

      BISHOP NEHM MICH UNTER - UNTERGANG 2019 Xes on my eyes for life seems like some people 'roudn here tdont know that bishop an emo rapper on the comeup 👀 so lemme introduce myself bonjour im bishop....

      BISHOP NEHM MICH UNTER - UNTERGANG 2019

      Xes on my eyes for life

      seems like some people 'roudn here tdont know that bishop an emo rapper on the comeup 👀

      so lemme introduce myself

      bonjour

      im bishop.

      i write hella poetry, and i just got a midi board and a expensive-ass course on Logic Pro X so imma learn how to produce as well.

      imma kind, lighthearted fella, but poetry is my muse to get the dark shit off my chest

      and rap is the zeitgeist now so i dont gotta feel ashamed of that anymore lmao

      i sold my soul for love and cash, but that keeps biting back

      we'll see how siht plays out

      .

      i love comments, and always peep my inspo tracks or we cant be friends

      (jk but srsly)

      much love, spread positiv y, all of that shit,

      bishop


      ps i also cook a lot so if u hungry for some plants hmu

      peep tha inspo at the bottom


      a wise man once said
      don't let your dreams be dreams
      so any time i go to sleep
      it's always nightmares indeed
      a lucid hellscape, i cant
      move i cant scream
      as i lay there unawake
      my fists pounding at the sheets
      it steady creeps, in my head
      it lays dormant in the day
      but still it's stench seeps out
      constant suffocates my brain
      as i struggle for a breath
      and my heart starts to race
      i just wanna lay down and
      fantasize a better day

      chasin xanny with the whiskey
      give a fuck about my kidneys
      life feels like a living hell
      if the furnace isn't in me
      so im steady blowin smoke
      out my lungs like a chimney
      my body like the house that
      you used to live in with me
      now it's empty and i'm starving
      feelin ugly, i'm not eating
      but the devil promised riches
      thus, the dark, i will believe in.


      So Spoke Zarathustra
      we're in this shit again
      as i built up another hope
      and then i lost another friend
      now there's demons in my head
      i expose my skeleton
      i thought that i could trust you
      always swore you're genuine

      but now i'm in this swamp again
      and i be wadin' through the water
      my skin begins to bubble up
      my blood is getting hotter
      and i can hear a voice within
      screaming out with an offer
      all the pain will end if i just
      offer up my slaughter
      let the water take me under
      let the Bishop take me under
      i could send my soul away
      and throw my body in gutter
      and i shudder in my slumber
      fingers gripping at the sheets
      and i wake up in a sweat
      this is what she did to me.


      don't let your dreams be dreams
      let them be nightmares
      when your soul's in the dark
      you can trust that the night cares
      upon a hilltop
      there stood a white mare
      who scoffed my direction
      took off and left me there

      taking an L like
      fuck, i'm here again
      Zoroastrian hell
      as my heart starts withering
      cut that bitch out,
      used my last breath
      to bury it
      fell to the ground
      as my life was
      diminishing

      send me to hell
      then at least i'll be free of this


      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DxvLc2a6Iao&t=112s

      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Ff0bq_ydEQ

      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w--D1S8SrCQ

      if anyone would be interested in my top 10 emo rap tracks of 2018 lemme kno because i know what they are i just font have the everny to write a wholeass post on it but if yall want it i will

      bye now

      7 votes
    24. BISHOP NEHM MICH UNTER we off the drink we off the emo shit esskeetit peep the inspo track sat the bottom or we cant be ffriends sold my soul to the devil so that i could feel valued remember bein...

      BISHOP NEHM MICH UNTER

      we off the drink we off the emo shit

      esskeetit

      peep the inspo track sat the bottom or we cant be ffriends


      sold my soul to the devil

      so that i could feel valued

      remember bein in a empty

      home with a vacuum

      former straight-edge

      off the drink, off the valium

      wanna go back to our

      mornings with the cartoons

      made my heart a whale

      then you hit it with a harpoon

      bleedin on the beach, staring

      up at the full moon

      sometimes life rains

      down in a monsoon

      i'd be glad to drown if

      it means i can love you

      .

      but i cant even hug you

      can't even text you.

      antidepressooos

      bishop 5'6" but he tryna

      be big news.

      .

      tryna get big so you

      cannot forget me

      honey your love is a

      xanny it's deadly

      how'm i supposed to

      forget about kelly

      or bout all of those nights

      that you called me, unsteady

      wish i loved you correctly

      shit got unsteady

      i was just tryna get

      us a few pennies

      put you in a bentley

      put you in the fendi

      wasn't rich enough so

      you got all offended

      on the offensive

      antidepressents

      fuck that bullshit

      it just makes me sedated

      .

      dont wanna feel shit

      if i cant feel you

      prayin that you'll text me

      "let me heal you"

      you got 50 shades of grey

      i can see through

      but somehow still

      made me believe you

      ignroed all the red flags

      so i could keep you

      mistook for an angel

      whenever i'd see you

      but now you a model

      you said "i don need you"

      looking for a camera

      you can show your tits to

      then the devil approached me.

      said "i can guarantee you."

      .

      so i went to the sea

      heard a voice, "take a knee"

      so i nodded, agreed

      and he said "you will serve me -

      Boy listen closely

      each one of your dreams

      surrender control to

      you want the money,

      someone to devote to,

      4-k square foot house

      to go home to.

      this, i can construe

      if you submit to

      living your life, all despite

      where you'll go to.

      i now control you

      your soul - i have claim to

      but think of all the things

      that my hands can bring you.

      so i bowed on my knees -

      now this man, i submit to.

      .

      ave satani

      i give you my body

      my soul, it was drawn, he

      took it, made a copy

      forgot about mommy

      woke up smelling coffee

      looked in the mirror

      did not hate my body

      the sky was all foggy

      and greyed-out, but oddly

      i liked it enough to

      not waste the day nodding

      or off of the molly

      or in my room rocking

      with her voice talking

      .

      ave satani

      the blood and the body

      the dark it is calling

      and i find it calming

      it's sated the longing

      lil bishop's evolving

      let's go to the graveyard

      i feel like walking

      and talking

      and nodding


      inspo tracks: peep this shit

      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w--D1S8SrCQ

      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Ff0bq_ydEQ

      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y17IQ96Zzjk

      9 votes