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Thread: New Blog: Lost but Wild

  1. #26
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    Wooooow... Dude ur skilled! make more!!

  2. #27
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    Cheers man

    Signed my sign but never my soul, it was not me you were looking for, but a goal. Forgive me for I dig these trenches, rotting skin always stenches. Were I care free I would not care, and as I dig this needle deeper, I know I dare. I dare take in this senseless sense that envelops me everyday in everything I do, and I dare not forget albeit having tried, the needle could never have lied.

    This is a small one, but very deep, so there might be some development of it into an actual proper post

    ~RM

    I & I know Zion. It is in the spirit, body and mind of every one of us
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  3. #28
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    I light it up. The ligther? Green Clipper. The stash? Right from next door. The papers? None other than Bob Marley X-Large. And I reminisce. I reminisce and I reminisce. In fact, I reminisce right now on this smokey memory. I reminisce for I wonder why I started, and why I stopped. Why I started? It was around. It was the thing to do on that day, and so I did. I reminisce for time flew from therein. Light, smoke, kill. Light, smoke, laugh, kill. Light, light, smoke, smoke, laugh, kill. Do I even remember it? Sometimes. Did I enjoy it? I'd like to think so. Very often I did. At other times... I still did. Dark days or bright days, the inner tuning of thought and emotion was blissful. Do I ever regret it? I don't think I do. I think I wrongfully blamed it for other factors in my life. I think I had to make a houdini escape out of a life situation and there it was, the hemp sewn rope of winded excuses. The drugs did it, not me. Like any other person in a moment of weakness I found an escape goat of which I am not proud of. In fact, I didn't find it. You did so for me. Everybody else blamed it. I didn't, I blamed myself. But when we came down to it? Heck, blame the drugs, I don't feel like dealing with this drama in a different light. Not yet, not now. And even when I tried not to, they were still blamed, still guilty. Depression? Yes, that's them too. Wandering, meandering thoughts? No it is not because you don't have a fucking clue about what you want to do with your life and how you'll do it, of course its the drugs. Spirituality? What are you doing wasting your time believing in spirits and auras and natural energy and go back to church, be a good boy. Stop doing drugs, and go drink Jesus' blood with the priest. Leave behind your heathen ways. Creative thought? Innovation? No, you're just laying on your sofa trying to figure out the universe from within you mind. No, you are not a philosopher. You are not a philosopher because you're a junky. And because you're a junky no one will care about your reformist ideas to their perfectly stable and functional economical and political studies. No, you are not a revolutionary, you are a junky, and so no one will care to hear about your anti-war policy. No, you are not of the green party, you are a junky, and since you're a junky you can't care about the trees. It is us, the highly ethical and of strong morals who care about the trees we destroy, after all, we right news articles about the junkies we find on trees, and how they were hiding their stash in the tree trunk. No, you are not looking for a change, you are looking to stay the same and live without getting a job. You're a junkie, because you do drugs and you look like a junkie because you do drugs, and you sound like a junkie because you do drugs. And we don't like junkies because you do drugs. Now leave me to my anti-depressants, and my shrinks, and my pedophile priests, and my unpaid benefits, there is nothing you junkies can do for me.

    -RM

    I & I know Zion. It is in the spirit, body and mind of every one of us
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  4. #29
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    okay guys, here's another one, 13th August. I realize my blog has had a diversity of article types and has not stuck to its original aim of social critic. I'm about to write another one that is a bit of a social critic but this change of direction will probably remain, that meaning, a private blog with a diversity of thoughts and ideas aimed at sharing experiences, discoveries and sometimes just pure ramblings or poetic writings of my own. I hope you like it all the same.

    It's been a while since I put this electronic ink onto electronic paper, it is said to be better to put real ink to real parchment for the feeling of the world is invaluably more real, but I am no longer from the age of pen-and-paper where my writings remain hidden in my under-the-mattress notebook although I've been there too. Is it that I fear not what I write or is it a restrained want to communicate my written thought to a bigger world? I don't know. But it might just be, for sometimes I feel that were I the only one to read my words, what good would they be? Whose life would they be changing, if they were changing even my own? Then again why do we write? Often, we start writing because we used to, and we know it used to make us feel good, other times, just as a hobby, and we search for a direction of our writings, whether it is a social critic or a personal journal or the sharing of an experience. And all these give us exquisitely different kinds of articles, and other times we write for no reason but to settle the swirling thoughts in our head. Sometimes we try to write better, for our texts to have a deeper meaning in between the lines of that which we read. Other times we write point blank, either because we are feeling raw, or because we just need to be stupidly clear. Whichever the reason why we write, we usually love to, and a writer goes through his life with his eyes open to the protagonist and the anti-hero, the sidekick and the villain, the secondary character and the small plot twist, the secondary plot and the total change of direction. And a writer cannot refuse reality, only embellish it and present it in a different light. Is the writer's world real, or fantastical? Is the writer any different to an engineer or a business man who see their live's through numbers and angles, through actions and reactions, possibilities and dreams? And does the writer push for his own vision, or does he merely and meekly describe what is going on around him, and if so, how does he do it? What is his emphasis, what is he trying to achieve? Why do we so often sit in front of our typewriter and have our mind going blank? Do we not know what to think anymore, are we so lost inside our own lives we can no longer find the wire which connects us to the world outside our heads? Are we waiting for someone to throw us the rope back to our words? And so word by word, by reason or imagination every writer reaches a point where he has no more to go on but his own guts - "We truly start living once we are out of our comfort zone" and where we travel, future unknown, undecided because we have crossed the lines of fate and there is nothing written in front of us and it is now time to change our futures. When we reach the limit and have to push further into that part of ourselves of which we have only but dreamed about, we are in fact changing our future, our reality and essentially become a little bit more of ourselves than we previously were. When we face ourselves in the mirror and push through the picture within and without changes and you are meddling with the very innermost atoms of our universe. And some meddle with care, some meddle recklessly, some meddle in a sense of adventure, some meddle thoughtfully and other just let themselves go, and every time you reach that point, this point, you have the chance to do it differently. "If I were there again would I do it any differently?" - Many people say no, I wouldn't change anything about my life because my experiences have made me who I am. But if it is so, why would you not wish to push further and be even more? And the next time you get to that point? Will you push for more, or will you settle for your usual? And that is what not only makes you different from everyone else, but different from yourself as well for you wake up the dormant parts of you, the wanting parts of you, the infinite desires that lay deep within your soul awaiting discovery of this new exciting emotion which you have not yet had the chance to develop. And sometimes you tell yourself "I just couldn't explain it". Essentially everything has three stages - "I lived it, I understood it, I passed it on". When you reach the point of passing it on, your experience finally makes a story, and influence, an image that can drive someone else, and once you pass it on then you are truly ready for the next one, for your are not lost inside your mind trying to understand what or how or why something was this way. And so, word by word, every writer reaches the next point, and only by word will he move on.

    ~RM

    I & I know Zion. It is in the spirit, body and mind of every one of us
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