Best posts made by AlbeitDying

@17katie now I readily admit I'm wrong once I know for certain I am. Unless of its with my parents. If I do one thing wrong I'm suddenly incapable as a person.

Putting all serious blanks in the possibility of time travel, I will say that I'd travel to the only period safe for humanity ' s sake: the future.

@MillieBee yes. But it was the type of person that honestly was mentally slow which is not a problem it's just that they never realize they do anything wrong. You have to point out their mistake down to a T and even then they will argue that they did nothing.
Any way I took the toxic route and gave the broody silent treatment. We made up after I wrote a letter that explained everything (and three back to back pages covered everything and more).

But after a few more same incidents it hit me that we were not only different (which sometimes is what makes a friendship) but we could never see eye to eye because I was ahead of that person by milestones in awareness (not a brag, actually sucks) and that person could never change his/her way of thought because of fear.

Now we still chat occasionally but we drifted apart. Man. Sorry if I went off topic.

Back when I wrote stories in the years 2016-19, I used to sketch some of the characters. This is a half-blood demon character I'd created for my Power Within series I never actually got to writing. The first is in 2018, and the second is a redraw in 2020, earlier this year.
I realize most of what I am now is a celebration of what I once was.

@James-C-137 I had no idea was I was getting myself into.

But I'm glad I did now.

@Rissa_TheBest it all depends on the extent to which society has influenced your upbringing. Without succumbing to the freedom of openmindedness everything you see, everything you say, everything you will ever do are through the eyes mouths and body of whatever controls you. "with these eyes I am my father" goes the phrase I just invented (lol).
Your case of a relationship with the man and child isnt wrong IMO. however you would question it since the norm has taught you to do so. and at your very core you cant help it. (this is a general you)

My life at fourteen years was a blur because I was on a creative writing high. I don't remember living it so much as guiding it. In this stage of my life I'd written my First complete literary composition, a narrative saga called All the Broken Sunrises.
Here I am to either weekly or daily post successive parts of that narrative. How it is recieved will govern if I continue.
It's a very personal work that I now realize was subconsciously telling me things a bout myself, so I hope it gives you an idea of how my 14yr old mind worked.
Btw, it is set in the distant future and so I'd invented a few words.

Part One

Prologue

The voices spoke as if there were no hovering
ears in the fore and the back.
The first was that of cold-lipped father,
the second of a white-faced stranger
(his visage I could not see).
Their discourse met me not in its entirety.

“I am wont to leave him be.” said father.

-Although, to solidate* him
while the thread of his shirt unravels
is wrong.

-You know nothing.

-He is rousted?

-I am unaware to his state, but often
he sits with dawn for moments –
flickers as ashes aglow –
then descends in an hour.
It might now be the afterfall*.

-He’s yet holding the roots.

-He’s yet yanking them.

-But the sap is green.

-The leaves are fallen.

-The ground is lively.

-It is frozen.

-The case shouldn’t be prepped.

-This should be made, polished.

-Have you no wish for succession?

-It is one’s succession
that braids the other’s rope.

-Have you the rope?

-I have.

-Have you the succession?

-I have.

-As long?

-… I have.

-Throw where least the cattle.

-I threw the bone and fed the beasts.

-Why must you tarry the suffering
when it is a cup with fire to the brim?

-I will guard my fires and dampen the pain.

-But he is your educated page.

-A page he says.

-A page, yes.

-I haven’t a leaf.
The winter is cold and my heart it is fatigued.

-Have yet the heart
for the blood of thy betrothed.

-I haven’t a half else, I haven’t a leaf.
All is passed, all is wasted.
I am in remorse for ghosts.
Thy purpose is told.

-I shall lead him?

-He should be surveyed.
The doe collapses shortly
by toxin of dragons.

-I shall lead, then, thy ghosts—

-Silence, the grave is entombed.

         TO BE CONTINUED

come here to talk. no perverts and creeps.

Gave me goosebumps

@Indrid-Cold sorry to reply so late.
Talk. Just talk. Like what are you views on blind hate to a standing figure without even knowing it. Like your views on agnosticism. That stuff

"I want the stars, give me the stars"

A line fueled by depression and that gave me the fight to write the whole book

I'm agnostic which is the purest form of open mindedness I think

@James-C-137 I'm glad someone likes it. Fourteen yr old me would be elated

I've spent the longest time on a chat site called chat42.
First impression: too many bots. Barely a single person real.
And if real, what next? Oh, "M or F"
If say M, they skip to next. If F, they ask for nudes. Kudos to being upfront but seriously...
Of course I've made a few friends, but the site so randomly resets connection and with the traffic it's hard to find that person again. Ironically the people skipping you keep popping back. Then: skip.
I've managed to chat up at least two people completely with no problems whatsoever.
Oh and I taught a bunch of kids a lesson on safety online. First, got them indignantly trying to prove their identity to a point that I acquired info no one should ever reveal. Then I told them what I knew. They freaked.
Please stop preying on women you men, and women don't send pics. Antisocial media is rising. It has your downfall in mind.

Part One

Chapter :

Six

The parlour hearth radiated dutifully,
and the doctor divulged in the leaves of a novel,
whose cover hid from my view.
I wondered if they were good.

“What know you of modern writings?”
asked he, sudden and bare.

-It is clear, and I enjoy the fog of old.

-But meaning is dug from surface.

-Some surfaces have no ground.

-Do they float?

-They soar, doctor,
they soar so very high from being.

He stumbled into silence
(misquote is a fall),
pricked by the burrs of thought.

“This here is poetry of new.”

-Has it the simplicity of new?

-It has,
but also the depth of uncharted waters.

-Its title?

-Of current fraction:
‘Always Almost Never’.

-Its pseudonym?

-‘Tenessive Folamer’,
of Eironffilac, Acerriman*.

-Foreign, I see… Shall you narrate?

-Do you wish it?

-There is a possibility

-you?

-would want.

-Then I’ll speak.

His throat then cleared, he read.

“Almost Always Never

“Sometimes mockingbirds sing
When they can’t even speak.
Sometimes hearts can be silent
When they cannot scream.

“Sometimes oceans pull back
What they can give no more.
Sometimes the stars above fade
When they cannot shine.

“Sometimes thought is a path
People take when they’re lost.
Sometimes a stone makes no spark
When it isn’t struck.

“Sometimes pain is a book
If its stories are songs.
Sometimes the firelight freezes
When it cannot burn.

“And always almost never
The end would be the start.
Sometimes we take forever
To see in the dark.”

He stopped. “Be it simple?”

-…

He recognized my silence with notice.

“You cry?”

-Cry?
that is too lenient a word.
No, doctor…
Zomo hasn’t made his friends yet.
Life is too petty but so great.
And abundance of third I have not.
I mayn’t live twice, and not for the better.
Simply, I understand.

-What?

-How blind I’ve been for long,
ever and now.

@knownsense hey can we chat?

Part One

Chapter :

Three

My wake demanded dew,
and where but the garden
fed my spirits to a sepian brim?

The doctor, clad in a close-fit vest
and high boots,
formed a supervisionary escort.

Overhead,
all the fires of the stars
burnt the sky ashen and grey.

“See the garden how it flutters?
Doctor,
can’t you sense the whisper of every pad
as if they were your own secret?”

-Frankly, I do not.
The moon is up
but the sun is eternally absent.

-Then do you listen with eye?
or be it the ear?

He pondered on it
as I bent into a bouquet of thorns,
sniffing the honeyed roses.
I stood at his call.

“Can you,” said he,
“see the tree yonder how it waves?”

-Yes. [For I could.]

-What more is there?

-It is nothing special.

-Wrong. It is the least special,
and that makes all the difference.
One might see it vital.

-True. [For it was.]

-So can you see it?

-No.

What he saw I could not see
in that tree upon the moor.
So I left it to the stars.
The decision. The sight.

“I want the stars. Give me the stars.”

-Why?

-The stars are mine.

-How?

-They run and I run. They’re mine.
They hurt and I hurt. They’re mine.

-So?

-They burn and I burn. They’re mine.
They blaze and I blaze. They’re mine.

-And?

-They fade and I fade. They’re mine.
They draw worlds on a tether and so do I.
They’re mine.
They follow principle and so do I.
They’re mine.

-Thus?

-The stars are mine and I want them.
I want their fire and dust.
I want their torment and death.
I want their worlds and people.
They are mine. The stars are mine.
I burn, blaze and fade.
I lead and I follow.
I run.
More than I can fathom, I run.
I want the stars.
Give me the stars.

-But why?

-I need them.

-Impossible…
Just contemplate the tree.
Can’t you see?

-What of it?

-See its lustre? It shines.

@knownsense pm me

@knownsense I'm new too. I think @Mehhh gave me an idea of how. Go to my profile, click three dots and press new chat

@knownsense I hope I was clear...