Description of his insane genius by zoray, literature
Literature
Description of his insane genius
People who have only experienced Lorenz from a distance--just heard about his intelligence but never quite experienced its intensity combined with his presence--like to call him "brilliant." Others, who have managed to experience him briefly, prefer the word "insane." Those who prefer stronger words call him a "sociopath," among other things. I like to think of him as "borderline crazy with the ability to be both a genius and a terrifying madman." He somewhat resembles Sherlock Holmes, one could sayexcept for the fact that Sherlock can at least entrain himself with the occasional London crime, whereas Lorenz inhabits the most boring sm
Do you not see?
Yes, you do.
You know she broke your heart,
she broke your mind
and left you to mend
what ever raw remains were left.
But she also closed your doors,
your heart, your mind, your soul.
She made you think you knew,
but you don't know,
what it means to be in love.
Lust.
That's all you knew.
That's all she knew.
Perhaps, perhaps I'm wrong.
Maybe you loved her,
but she didn't love you.
And it breaks my heart to think
that you aren't sure of the truth.
And I used to want to
break your trance,
and make you fall
for someone else.
To make that kiss
mean something else.
But it's wrong, because
I can't feel m
I dig the grave with a shovel,
in the dark place
that used to hold the dead.
Now it's a park, and people walk over.
None know the story, except a skeptic few.
And I throw dirt over my shoulder,
making it fall over the beast behind me,
hoping I can bury it too,
hoping it will die out, before it forces me to lie,
in this bed I'm digging.
Lights shine upon me,
not the rays of rising sun,
but the headlights of a car.
He steps out, with his innocent smile,
the one that never disappears.
He waves his unique "Hello,"
the one he used to wave to every stranger,
until he learned some of the danger.
He sits on the edge of the grave,
a
"She felt something hard press against her heart, but she knew nothing was there. Her hands stiffen, and so did her back."
At least those were the feelings I thought I would describe.
"But in truth, she smiled and she tried not to think. She avoided thinking of how it would happen. Still she could not stop seeing his face and remembering his arms. She could still feel her face grow hot and red with embarrassment."
That's what I really felt. But I didn't want to. I still don't. What if it doesn't work again? What if it breaks me apart one more time? And then, what if it does work? Wouldn't that be worse?
"She thought she wanted to be in l
I. It all makes sense
I fully understand, darling.
After one year you did not know me,
and based your judging on that one night.
You dislike me,
because I lived and failed,
and you always succeed, correct?
Everyone else admires you,
your perfect scores,
your flawless beauty.
Of course, you can still diet from time to time.
You need to maintain your form, hon.
II. Friend to Friend
Despite all this, you have no problems,
so you mock others.
Your mother is the one with the problem.
She is a great person, darling,
but a horrible mother.
Your father, on the other hand,
he is one to admire.
He is awesome!
Of course t
Was that all you had to say?
As if I forced the kiss out of you.
All I said was "Hey!"
and waved.
I didn't blush or bite my lower lip.
I didn't insist.
I just complained on your sad reply,
a narrowed-eyed "Hello,"
as if you didn't care.
So you leaned for a kiss,
as if I were one of those girls.
I guess I wasn't drunk enough,
not even a drop of vodka in my blood.
The daggers deeply stab,
reminders of the truth.
They tell her to stop,
to go back.
She doesn't belong.
She's the girl in between,
not one or the other,
but more the other than one of them.
Yet she says:
"I won't change my mind,
as it easy as it may be.
To do so would let those lies win.
The scowls of those who pretend to smile
would become the laughter of the worthless
'I told you so.'
I could live with that,
but I could not live with knowing,
that I gave up the only thing I knew,
even if I didn't know it as one who belongs."
I love the night.
I hate sleep.
Awake she lay.
The darkness glowing.
Her eyes adjusted,
ever so slowly.
There's a fine line
between imagination and reality.
Yet in the shadows
creatures hid,
or so it seemed
from the noises she heard.
I feel dead,
when so alive.
So many words
that could be written.
So many stories
that could be read.
If only the day,
would come quicker.
The moon shines now
and clears the room.
Yet she lies there,
the sun awaiting.
It's a lie:
The stars don't speak.
In darkness it seems
so easy to fall.
Insanity reigns.
She wishes
I fear the loss,
but wonder so much.
Description of his insane genius by zoray, literature
Literature
Description of his insane genius
People who have only experienced Lorenz from a distance--just heard about his intelligence but never quite experienced its intensity combined with his presence--like to call him "brilliant." Others, who have managed to experience him briefly, prefer the word "insane." Those who prefer stronger words call him a "sociopath," among other things. I like to think of him as "borderline crazy with the ability to be both a genius and a terrifying madman." He somewhat resembles Sherlock Holmes, one could sayexcept for the fact that Sherlock can at least entrain himself with the occasional London crime, whereas Lorenz inhabits the most boring sm
Do you not see?
Yes, you do.
You know she broke your heart,
she broke your mind
and left you to mend
what ever raw remains were left.
But she also closed your doors,
your heart, your mind, your soul.
She made you think you knew,
but you don't know,
what it means to be in love.
Lust.
That's all you knew.
That's all she knew.
Perhaps, perhaps I'm wrong.
Maybe you loved her,
but she didn't love you.
And it breaks my heart to think
that you aren't sure of the truth.
And I used to want to
break your trance,
and make you fall
for someone else.
To make that kiss
mean something else.
But it's wrong, because
I can't feel m
I dig the grave with a shovel,
in the dark place
that used to hold the dead.
Now it's a park, and people walk over.
None know the story, except a skeptic few.
And I throw dirt over my shoulder,
making it fall over the beast behind me,
hoping I can bury it too,
hoping it will die out, before it forces me to lie,
in this bed I'm digging.
Lights shine upon me,
not the rays of rising sun,
but the headlights of a car.
He steps out, with his innocent smile,
the one that never disappears.
He waves his unique "Hello,"
the one he used to wave to every stranger,
until he learned some of the danger.
He sits on the edge of the grave,
a
I. It all makes sense
I fully understand, darling.
After one year you did not know me,
and based your judging on that one night.
You dislike me,
because I lived and failed,
and you always succeed, correct?
Everyone else admires you,
your perfect scores,
your flawless beauty.
Of course, you can still diet from time to time.
You need to maintain your form, hon.
II. Friend to Friend
Despite all this, you have no problems,
so you mock others.
Your mother is the one with the problem.
She is a great person, darling,
but a horrible mother.
Your father, on the other hand,
he is one to admire.
He is awesome!
Of course t
Was that all you had to say?
As if I forced the kiss out of you.
All I said was "Hey!"
and waved.
I didn't blush or bite my lower lip.
I didn't insist.
I just complained on your sad reply,
a narrowed-eyed "Hello,"
as if you didn't care.
So you leaned for a kiss,
as if I were one of those girls.
I guess I wasn't drunk enough,
not even a drop of vodka in my blood.
"She felt something hard press against her heart, but she knew nothing was there. Her hands stiffen, and so did her back."
At least those were the feelings I thought I would describe.
"But in truth, she smiled and she tried not to think. She avoided thinking of how it would happen. Still she could not stop seeing his face and remembering his arms. She could still feel her face grow hot and red with embarrassment."
That's what I really felt. But I didn't want to. I still don't. What if it doesn't work again? What if it breaks me apart one more time? And then, what if it does work? Wouldn't that be worse?
"She thought she wanted to be in l
The daggers deeply stab,
reminders of the truth.
They tell her to stop,
to go back.
She doesn't belong.
She's the girl in between,
not one or the other,
but more the other than one of them.
Yet she says:
"I won't change my mind,
as it easy as it may be.
To do so would let those lies win.
The scowls of those who pretend to smile
would become the laughter of the worthless
'I told you so.'
I could live with that,
but I could not live with knowing,
that I gave up the only thing I knew,
even if I didn't know it as one who belongs."
I love the night.
I hate sleep.
Awake she lay.
The darkness glowing.
Her eyes adjusted,
ever so slowly.
There's a fine line
between imagination and reality.
Yet in the shadows
creatures hid,
or so it seemed
from the noises she heard.
I feel dead,
when so alive.
So many words
that could be written.
So many stories
that could be read.
If only the day,
would come quicker.
The moon shines now
and clears the room.
Yet she lies there,
the sun awaiting.
It's a lie:
The stars don't speak.
In darkness it seems
so easy to fall.
Insanity reigns.
She wishes
I fear the loss,
but wonder so much.
My Dear,
I must confess. I never told you, but I got high once. And once before that.
The first time was the day I met you. In that old bookstore we touched fingers among the fiction shelves reaching for a Joyce. An awkward moment made majestic when you laughed. I knew right then and there. This girl is outside my comfort zone. Then you took my hand. As you led me through the aisles, I ran my fingers across the books and prayed inwardly for osmosis to give me the right words to say.
And like some Forrest and Jenny escapade, we were off. We took turns riding the rolling ladder across the biography shelves. We encouraged an Asian boy in the
Date a girl who will argue with you over which brand of pen is better. Who needs more RAM on her computer because of Word files, not game files. Who has two bookcases one for filled notebooks and one for other author's works.
Find a girl who writes. You know it's her because she'll always have a pen and a notebook with her. Occasionally a tape recorder. She's the one who would have as much fun at home on a Saturday night with her computer as she would out at a party.
You see the weird girl sitting on a park bench looking engrossed in watching the people that walk? That's the writer. They watch people, how they act, they discover how
"Let's play pretend," John says, nudging Anna where she lies in the grass by his side, staring at the blue sky.
"You still want to play pretend?" she asks him. She sounds suspicious, but he isn't certain what she suspects.
"Of course! Let's pretend that I'm a king and you're a queen, and we rule this land together. Everyone has to do what we say, or else. And Mark is the prince."
"Mark left," Anna says, with perhaps a tinge of jealousy in her voice. But she sits up and looks around at the bare expanse of grass. "Where will the thrones be?" she asks tentatively.
"Mark left t
Why do you torture me so?
It's as if you have my warm, pulsating heart in the palm of your ice-cold hand. That alone would cause a simple pain but you take it one step further. You won't stop squeezing, pressing, digging, and so you carry on until you've got me trapped beneath your fingernails. Trapped under them with all the dirt and all the acid-green grime of this modern society.
Why do you interrogate me so?
Pulling, you try to tease weary words from my brain to place within your own clear jam jar. Ensnared in the glass they cannot fly, they cannot do harm nor good. Mournful words attached to a printed page are read once, and th
Tick, Tock. Tick, Tock. by BeatNickBarney, literature
Literature
Tick, Tock. Tick, Tock.
These words cycle in
Between my ears - in
Between cries, for
The sane - in between my tears.
Looking upon this
Once sought sanctuary -
Becoming enraged at dreams
Once dreamed in amnesty,
Secrets lost with the fall of
Laissez Faire.
Muscles tense and
Eyes dried. As
The hours march by; hand-
In-hand with the Bird, the
Bear, the Hare, and Fish.
What happened to my love's
Fondest wish?
Tonight while the moon shines,
A heart to the skies - pumping
Romance into graves
Once dubbed eyes - leaving
Heads empty and discarded
Like rotting fruit rinds.
Finished my sophomore year! Yay! I'm a junior now, yikes!
I'm home for the summer. So far it's ok, but I feel like I'll get over it soon.
We'll see. Maybe something interesting will come up. I have some plans here and there.
I have ideas for a couple of new stories but they are all hanging in the air.
Merp. That's all I can say for now.
Zory
Well, I haven't done much writing in a while. I have written a few things here and there since my last upload, but hardly as much as I wish.
I'm double majoring now. In English and Art History (with a History of Architecture concentration). I know, I went from Business to Art History, what? At least English remained consistent.
There's a lot more that I could say now, but I'm tiered. So more later.
Hopefully I'll upload something soon and do a few critiques too.
I'm on spring break now, so I might have some time.
Zory
So I dropped my minor in Business.
Yes, this is a big turn considering all I said on my last post (maybe not). My parents weren't expecting this. Half of my friends weren't expecting it. I'd only told two or three people that the class was "good" and that I was "going to do fine. I understand everything. It's a lot of work, but I'll manage," only to say "but, honestly, why am I a Business minor?"
The truth is, I think I could have gotten at least a B on the class (I don't know if higher). I did understand everything. Also, I don't believe that stuff people say about how "if you don't like it, you won't do well." That's a bunch of lies (bul