Monday, May 09, 2005
Leaving was always hard for him. The waves, the goodbyes, the glistening eyes of unwanted, unshed tears of sorrow. Unabashed heartache at seeing someone you love recede into the background of that station of thousand goodbyes.
You wave at them, sticking your hand out that window, flailing at them into the rushing wind. They hesitate, but in the end, raise their hand in return from that nest of warmth, they clutch around their center as if trying to tether themselves to the center of their universe and not fall apart from that simple action.
Joe could see it in their eyes, those shining eyes of loss, of pride, of wishfulness in his endeavours. To the big city, that was where he wwas going, to the big city of his multitude of fantasies of life, fortune and fame. He had big dreams of becoming an accomplished singer. He had a good voice, not one that soared in the sky as did the birds of paradise back in his home town. But one that rang pure of heart and good will, a sincereness of what he sung, he sung from within. One cannot be mistaken of such a sound, such a sonance of totality and wholesomeness, that one could almost weep at the sound of it.
Joe was the epitome of youth, with wild uncombed auburn hair; a recklessness of nature, twinkling grey eyes of mischieviousness but sometimes deepened in hate as he looked down that sharp nose of his. Full lips that carved out that resonant tenor of smooth sophistication that unwittingly seemed to spike more fights and unwanted trouble that he had hope to care for, back in his town. His abled body showed signs of hard work in menial labour that he carried out for other houses, small cash that ultimately accumulated into that train ticket that he held fisted in his hand. Yet all in all, despite these signs of a growing man breaking out of his teens into pure unadulterated adulthood (him going to the city and all), he still remained in that naive frame of mind, of hopes and dreams, fame and fortune, all of which would hopefully be poured at his feet, like a sultan who has gold prostrated before him, in giving sublimation. Wishful thinking or more cynically, greed was the downfall of many a man, and he was not one to be exempted from this rule.
Joe stared out the window, nervous and scared. Adrenaline was rushing through him, wave after wave of it washed over him, making him fidget and toss from within. He had an unsettleness coupled with a hen's nervousness earned from his mother, and the twitching anticipation that he got from his bull of a father. HIS eyes soon got tired of following the passing trees, and he just closed his eyes and enjoyed the steady breeze filtering into his window.
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I'm stopping the entry here because i am only concerned about the creation of character, i need criticisms on how i've been doing with the creation of my chracter and what needs to be improved, i'll post up my final competition piece when i finish it.
deadnessmaster live again at 11:30 PM
Monday, May 02, 2005
Define life?
Not understood in its many ways.
It is a cat stretching its back in a luscious purr,
A hiding conscience, ready to sneak up on you when you least expect it to.
Define life?
Loss time made, Spare time given.
Nonchalant in its rewards and punishments.
No doubt, a cruel master.
Define life?
Yet how should i put it?
Not birth, nor death, nor time thats spent.
It is a multitude of sorts, in its ways about you.
Define life?
It is a carried burden.
A world upon our shoulders.
As we lugged it around with smiles upon our faces.
Define life?
No i shall not.
It is too vast, too infinite,
For words to capture the whisps of it.
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I hate life.
deadnessmaster live again at 2:27 PM