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The Writers Block
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The Writers Block

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I was born North-East of Eden. Moved West to find the sun, for it had dove into the sea. I searched for her, I hopped freight-trains, echoing North and South along the Perimeter of the Pacific Sea. Under the dictatorship of poverty, I grew weak. Barely evading starvation, enduring a diet of square roots of sea matter, hunting colorless fauna invisible in the depths of that horrifying blackness. For there was no light, no energy, no mass. Apparitional pygmean creatures, eyeless and colorless, became my sustenance.
Something strange happened then. Something I cannot make sense of. A new Sun rose from the Southern division of Earth and Heaven. Not the Sun I had known, this disc was an imitation, a liar, an imposter. I yelled and cursed at her. "Cruel witch! What have you done with the love of mine!" My fury at this ghostly interloper, as I accused her of kidnapping the Sun and pretending to be the Sun, was fueled by a deep fear that clenched my heart like a the hands of a strangler. I would deny it any credence, any form of acceptance. But uncertainty and doubt colluded within my terrified soul, circling about me, these orbitals of an error, of a misjudgment, of a possible truth too awful to let inside the doors of my repressive mind. I would not let myself think it. But, now, years later; I can acknowledge its presence. Now I can recall the awful jolt of anxiety, the hair on the back of my neck standing upright as if the shock of what I denied were in fact a shock. How electricity spanned my skin, statically charged hallucinatory goosebumps and erect follicles of hair, readied like and army of soldiers, lining up to defend my heart from it's deepest fear.
Was it her? Her ghost? Had she returned into the sky by occult forces and black magic alone? Was this the most deranged, evil, inhuman joke ever played? Had someone murdered my.... No. Do not even think it!
This is someone else. This woman is not Sun. She is pale and her skin is porous, covered with indentations of some sort. Not that she is ugly. Or in fact, anything less than beautiful.
But my girl is without flaw. She is perfection. She is crowned in fire. She is too hot to look at. Yet I do. Damaging my eyes in blissful carelessness.
Another inexplicable strangeness occurred. A symphony of hounds. The dogs and the wolves, the coyotes and the foxes, all - and I knew then - because of this ghostly unwarming subverter that enraged my tired, emaciated mind; began to sing a music with such beauty that tears filled my eyes. From every distance, in every direction, at beautiful intervals of time, in divine harmonic frequencies, the beasts of the earth howled in rapture of this mysterious, humble light that traversed the sphere of the foreign black tarp that covered my sky.
I haven't mentioned yet the strange qualities of this enigmatic tarp that masked the blue Heaven I had known. Somewhat mesmerizing, as my anger faded, I gazed upon this veil over heaven at lengths, noticing that someone (and it must be my love, it must be the Sun!) was poking little holes in the tarp of blackness. The longer I stared into the dark obscurity, the more she would poke. Revealing tiny pin-lights of Heaven, sparkling and shimmering against the negative space of blankness. Like zinc, or quartz crystals twinkling on the conical sedimentary rock within a cave, deep within the crust of my flat, spacious home. Where I have delved, in times when I (and now, in her absence, I am filled with shame and regret to admit) had sought to be alone, after some petty disagreement or bittersweet tiff and thus retreated into the nightmarish underbelly of the Earth, as I knew she was too afraid to follow after me into those cervical holes of jagged stone. I take back every word I've uttered that was in discord with you. I will, from now on, trust your mind over my own. I will live only in your world. I will create for you a paradise, I will build vast empires of clay and wood, following precisely the model of your synapses. Where the species of refined ape you’ve named Man will dwell in harmony with all of its fellow animals.
Have I told you that I love… But there is no point. 
O, how I miss you, Sun. Where are you, my love? Are you in danger?! Please call out for me. And evidence of your voice, no matter how faint, I will find its origin and I will traverse eternity towards it, I will never stop, I will descend into hell for you, please call to me, and I will find you.

To be continued.


by Bub
1
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The Writers Block

Shared publicly  - 
 
 
I was born North-East of Eden. Moved West to find the sun, for it had dove into the sea. I searched for her, I hopped freight-trains, echoing North and South along the Perimeter of the Pacific Sea. Under the dictatorship of poverty, I grew weak. Barely evading starvation, enduring a diet of square roots of sea matter, hunting colorless fauna invisible in the depths of that horrifying blackness. For there was no light, no energy, no mass. Apparitional pygmean creatures, eyeless and colorless, became my sustenance.
Something strange happened then. Something I cannot make sense of. A new Sun rose from the Southern division of Earth and Heaven. Not the Sun I had known, this disc was an imitation, a liar, an imposter. I yelled and cursed at her. "Cruel witch! What have you done with the love of mine!" My fury at this ghostly interloper, as I accused her of kidnapping the Sun and pretending to be the Sun, was fueled by a deep fear that clenched my heart like a the hands of a strangler. I would deny it any credence, any form of acceptance. But uncertainty and doubt colluded within my terrified soul, circling about me, these orbitals of an error, of a misjudgment, of a possible truth too awful to let inside the doors of my repressive mind. I would not let myself think it. But, now, years later; I can acknowledge its presence. Now I can recall the awful jolt of anxiety, the hair on the back of my neck standing upright as if the shock of what I denied were in fact a shock. How electricity spanned my skin, statically charged hallucinatory goosebumps and erect follicles of hair, readied like and army of soldiers, lining up to defend my heart from it's deepest fear.
Was it her? Her ghost? Had she returned into the sky by occult forces and black magic alone? Was this the most deranged, evil, inhuman joke ever played? Had someone murdered my.... No. Do not even think it!
This is someone else. This woman is not Sun. She is pale and her skin is porous, covered with indentations of some sort. Not that she is ugly. Or in fact, anything less than beautiful.
But my girl is without flaw. She is perfection. She is crowned in fire. She is too hot to look at. Yet I do. Damaging my eyes in blissful carelessness.
Another inexplicable strangeness occurred. A symphony of hounds. The dogs and the wolves, the coyotes and the foxes, all - and I knew then - because of this ghostly unwarming subverter that enraged my tired, emaciated mind; began to sing a music with such beauty that tears filled my eyes. From every distance, in every direction, at beautiful intervals of time, in divine harmonic frequencies, the beasts of the earth howled in rapture of this mysterious, humble light that traversed the sphere of the foreign black tarp that covered my sky.
I haven't mentioned yet the strange qualities of this enigmatic tarp that masked the blue Heaven I had known. Somewhat mesmerizing, as my anger faded, I gazed upon this veil over heaven at lengths, noticing that someone (and it must be my love, it must be the Sun!) was poking little holes in the tarp of blackness. The longer I stared into the dark obscurity, the more she would poke. Revealing tiny pin-lights of Heaven, sparkling and shimmering against the negative space of blankness. Like zinc, or quartz crystals twinkling on the conical sedimentary rock within a cave, deep within the crust of my flat, spacious home. Where I have delved, in times when I (and now, in her absence, I am filled with shame and regret to admit) had sought to be alone, after some petty disagreement or bittersweet tiff and thus retreated into the nightmarish underbelly of the Earth, as I knew she was too afraid to follow after me into those cervical holes of jagged stone. I take back every word I've uttered that was in discord with you. I will, from now on, trust your mind over my own. I will live only in your world. I will create for you a paradise, I will build vast empires of clay and wood, following precisely the model of your synapses. Where the species of refined ape you’ve named Man will dwell in harmony with all of its fellow animals.
Have I told you that I love… But there is no point. 
O, how I miss you, Sun. Where are you, my love? Are you in danger?! Please call out for me. And evidence of your voice, no matter how faint, I will find its origin and I will traverse eternity towards it, I will never stop, I will descend into hell for you, please call to me, and I will find you.

To be continued.


by Bub
1
Add a comment...

The Writers Block

Shared publicly  - 
 
I was born North-East of Eden. Moved West to find the sun, for it had dove into the sea. I searched for her, I hopped freight-trains, echoing North and South along the Perimeter of the Pacific Sea. Under the dictatorship of poverty, I grew weak. Barely evading starvation, enduring a diet of square roots of sea matter, hunting colorless fauna invisible in the depths of that horrifying blackness. For there was no light, no energy, no mass. Apparitional pygmean creatures, eyeless and colorless, became my sustenance.
Something strange happened then. Something I cannot make sense of. A new Sun rose from the Southern division of Earth and Heaven. Not the Sun I had known, this disc was an imitation, a liar, an imposter. I yelled and cursed at her. "Cruel witch! What have you done with the love of mine!" My fury at this ghostly interloper, as I accused her of kidnapping the Sun and pretending to be the Sun, was fueled by a deep fear that clenched my heart like a the hands of a strangler. I would deny it any credence, any form of acceptance. But uncertainty and doubt colluded within my terrified soul, circling about me, these orbitals of an error, of a misjudgment, of a possible truth too awful to let inside the doors of my repressive mind. I would not let myself think it. But, now, years later; I can acknowledge its presence. Now I can recall the awful jolt of anxiety, the hair on the back of my neck standing upright as if the shock of what I denied were in fact a shock. How electricity spanned my skin, statically charged hallucinatory goosebumps and erect follicles of hair, readied like and army of soldiers, lining up to defend my heart from it's deepest fear.
Was it her? Her ghost? Had she returned into the sky by occult forces and black magic alone? Was this the most deranged, evil, inhuman joke ever played? Had someone murdered my.... No. Do not even think it!
This is someone else. This woman is not Sun. She is pale and her skin is porous, covered with indentations of some sort. Not that she is ugly. Or in fact, anything less than beautiful.
But my girl is without flaw. She is perfection. She is crowned in fire. She is too hot to look at. Yet I do. Damaging my eyes in blissful carelessness.
Another inexplicable strangeness occurred. A symphony of hounds. The dogs and the wolves, the coyotes and the foxes, all - and I knew then - because of this ghostly unwarming subverter that enraged my tired, emaciated mind; began to sing a music with such beauty that tears filled my eyes. From every distance, in every direction, at beautiful intervals of time, in divine harmonic frequencies, the beasts of the earth howled in rapture of this mysterious, humble light that traversed the sphere of the foreign black tarp that covered my sky.
I haven't mentioned yet the strange qualities of this enigmatic tarp that masked the blue Heaven I had known. Somewhat mesmerizing, as my anger faded, I gazed upon this veil over heaven at lengths, noticing that someone (and it must be my love, it must be the Sun!) was poking little holes in the tarp of blackness. The longer I stared into the dark obscurity, the more she would poke. Revealing tiny pin-lights of Heaven, sparkling and shimmering against the negative space of blankness. Like zinc, or quartz crystals twinkling on the conical sedimentary rock within a cave, deep within the crust of my flat, spacious home. Where I have delved, in times when I (and now, in her absence, I am filled with shame and regret to admit) had sought to be alone, after some petty disagreement or bittersweet tiff and thus retreated into the nightmarish underbelly of the Earth, as I knew she was too afraid to follow after me into those cervical holes of jagged stone. I take back every word I've uttered that was in discord with you. I will, from now on, trust your mind over my own. I will live only in your world. I will create for you a paradise, I will build vast empires of clay and wood, following precisely the model of your synapses. Where the species of refined ape you’ve named Man will dwell in harmony with all of its fellow animals.
Have I told you that I love… But there is no point. 
O, how I miss you, Sun. Where are you, my love? Are you in danger?! Please call out for me. And evidence of your voice, no matter how faint, I will find its origin and I will traverse eternity towards it, I will never stop, I will descend into hell for you, please call to me, and I will find you.

To be continued.


by Bub
1
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