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I'M BACK
Join Date: 5th Jun 06
Location: Haverhill, MA
Age: 18
Posts: 1,170
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Two pieces I wrote for Creative Writing class
Legacy of Blood[/font]
I’m the nocturnal, infamous, wild cowboy
Baptized by fire
Criminal minded killer and violent by design
Fear no life after death
Always ready to die
Posters up say Wanted: Dead or Alive
But I’m like so
Will not stop until I’m paid in full
Then I can escape this Hell on Earth I know
This life of folklore in which I exist
Living the lifestyle of the poor and dangerous
Everywhere I go danger is
I stay though by my motto, get rich or die trying
Not trying to die trying, but I gotta get rich
Gotta feed myself, feed the kids
Or die of starvation
So, I live life by the concrete gospel
Feast or famine
Kill or be killed
Even when it seems alright, still
Never trust nobody else
Or end up at the Devil’s house
This piece is basically what it describes, a criminal. He is supposed to be a sort of urban cowboy. The whole poem is pretty much full of references to album titles, at least one that all of you should get.
Njudžen’s Life
He wakes up, feeling half dead every weekday morning, to go to a building he has no love for. Before leaving, the boy eats a breakfast that usually consists of either turkey bacon and eggs or ramen noodles, brushes his teeth, and, most importantly, showers. Then he’s off to the six hour torture session. No computer, terrible food, annoying people, young man loves it. He’ll survive though. [/font]
After being a state-sponsored masochist, he goes home. His father picks the bum up since he doesn’t drive yet, largely a result of a hot temper, bad mouth, and a Idiot of an instructor. At home, the subject eats his real lunch and supper. Evening eating is an almost strictly weekend affair. His father cooks the meal since Неитан can’t cook. After, he enters his room.
Here he resides his whole day, spending most his time on his computer. When not there, Неитан is asleep. Television provides nearly no enjoyment, with exception to Homer, Stewart, Stephen, Cartman, and Peter. The occasional Sox game is cool, but he doesn’t watch them usually. Only when he has to or when too struck by boredom does he leave the chamber of solitude.
On his computer, Mr. Njudžen takes his time wasted on a message board, on which he moderates, typing mostly bullshit and downloading music he’s too poor to buy, most of which isn’t worth the money anyways. Over 50,000 posts in two and a half years, he needs to find a real hobby. Неитан won’t though so, since that requires he gets up and does something. Wikipedia also takes most of the other time, researching possibly wrong “facts” for a mixture of entertainment and curiosity. He has a disturbingly large knowledge of Bollywood actresses despite never seeing a single Indian film and knowing next to nothing of their male counterparts.
The computer builds knowledge of known “obsessions” of sorts too. Like most in his life, they revolve around music and females. Guns, drugs, revolution, promiscuous maneaters who fly like birds, paper planes, sun showers, Bipasha, and Aishwarya, the more he learns, the more he hates Abhishek Bachchan. Jealously is a strong disease. King Noleif knows this, so tries to keep his cool while downloading some album mainly consisting of songs about just the opposite. He grew up with it though, so it’s nothing new to him.
After hours of fooling around on the computer, our “hero” goes to bed sometime in the early morning. Before he sleeps, he tells himself the things he’s going to do the next morning, mostly what he doesn’t ever do like try to pick up that Dominican girl in his homeroom. It’s that not that he hasn’t any game; it’s that he has no game or luck. The cute ones are taken and the ugly ones are ugly. He talks to them like an idiot, losing his train of thought and stammering over every other word he says. His own looks mean nothing, since M. Pasdevie stays looking good, at least in the mind of the deranged and those on the border (like M. Pasdevie). After, all that talk though, he enters deep sleep, only to wake up again to repeat the cycle, only to anticipate another eventless weekend. Yet this is life, and change is hard. Talkstoself doesn’t like doing things that are too hard since he’s lazy.
This piece is pretty much me finding the most creative way to talk about my daily routine. I like it for its honesty and straightforwardness, except for the fact I used a million names not techically my own. I managed to use meagre linguistic skills to conceal my real name and surname, at least how I pronounce it (Noojen).
I just felt like sharing this with people to see their opinion. I've got a good reception in class.
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God like in all ways possible
Last.fm
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