Home | Community | Message Board


Seedsman.com
Please support our sponsors.

Community >> The Smoke Lounge

Welcome to the Growery Message Board! You are experiencing a small sample of what the site has to offer. Please login or register to post messages and view our exclusive members-only content. You'll gain access to additional forums, file attachments, board customizations, encrypted private messages, and much more!

Amazon Shop for: The Doors, Toilet Paper

Jump to first unread post. Pages: 1 | 2 | Next >  [ show all ]
OfflineFRACTALife
Rust Fuckin' Cohle
Male User Gallery


Folding@home Statistics
Registered: 03/20/10
Posts: 6,835
Loc: Carcosa Flag
Last seen: 7 hours, 54 minutes
I am sharing with the Growery a recent piece of my writing... * 1
    #467596 - 08/26/10 03:52 AM (6 years, 3 months ago)

It is a very different style than I normally write in. I wrote it all tonight, by the way.

I am an aspiring writer and decided to do something new tonight and this is where it took me...

It is called Mental Weeds.

Hope you enjoy it.  :pimp3:


Quote:

I brought the cigarette up to my lips.
Is this a cigarette in my hand? Is this even my hand?
I really can’t tell anymore.
I took a drag. The smoke enters my mouth… hot smoke. My mouth the hot, wet atmosphere of hell.
Breathing out the smoke, I see it twirl in the air. It dances and mixes with the air. Parts of the dance are nice… very enjoyable. Parts of it are disgusting. But then it disappears… like a life… like a thought.
Like my thoughts, which seem to be blown out of some unseen mouth. They dance and fade away into some mysterious and unseen place.
I look down at my wrist… JESUS CHRIST! It’s quite red… I didn’t think skin could stain. The blood flows out of the long gash beginning at the end of my palm. It ends somewhere near the end of my forearm. There the skin comes together again and the blood stops flowing.
The blood is extreme, just like memories. Blood isn‘t like thought or smoke, it doesn’t fade away. Blood coagulates. It disappears eventually… like the memories of an old man nearing death. His memories, like all of ours, are filled with the very good, the very bad, and the very different. That’s the shit we remember… that’s the shit that is encoded in our RNA… that’s the shit that is ENGRAVED in our brain… that’s the shit that keeps on DANCING all over our neurons. That’s the shit that your conscious undresses… that’s the shit that your unconscious waves in front of you faster than your eyes can process it.
Of course, none of it really matters. A memory from a dream is no different than a memory from reality. All we really have is the present… once you get used to this idea, this idea that all of this is an illusion. Well after a few months of this sort of thinking you remember something that happened a few months ago, and it feels the same as something that happened thirty seconds ago. It’s a shame really, that people spend time thinking about the irrelevant past and the nonexistent future. It’s a shame people spend time fighting these inner and outer wars which we take far too seriously. It’s a shame people separate themselves from the universe, and from other people, when they’re all really the same energy in the same existence. It’s a damn shame that people waste their years away succumbing to fear and grief instead of peace and love. But who I am too judge… I am the one sitting here with a ten inch gash in arm and a stomach full of benzodiazepines and alcohol. I guess these last few moments, for some people, are the only moments when they truly get to live in the present.

DANNY! DANNY!
Bang. Bang. Bang.
DANNY! DANNY! OPEN UP!
I pull myself out of the bed.
Creek.
What the fuck do you want?
I want my guitar.
Step.
I want my radio.
Stomp.
And I want my fucking stuff!
Well you are the one who made the decision to leave out of the fucking blue, aren’t you?
Grabs guitar. Grabs radio. Grabs baggie of stuff from the top drawer filled with socks and boxers.
Shut the fuck up, asshole.
Jump.
Squeak.
Hold.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
I wake up in the bed, Mary is right next to me.
How did this fucking happen again?
You are the one who decided to jump on me, aren’t you?
Step.
Stomp.
Slam.
You forgot your guitar!
Creek.
Storm.
Grab.
Stomp.
Slam.

The evening news is on. They are talking about Mary… but they aren’t calling her Mary.

Dreams.


Bang. Bang. Bang.

Wakes up.

Pitter patter.

Creek.

Step.

Stomp.

Sits down on bed and crosses arms.

The evening news.

Well, did you see it?

Yes, I always see it.

They were talking about me again.

Well… you are quite popular.

This isn’t fucking funny! I could wind up in jail…

Well. Conjugal visits aren’t that different from what why have going on now, right?

Throws pillow.

You are such a stupid fuck.

Don’t forgot, I am the one who taught you to nurture life.

You are also the one who taught me how to fuck it all away.

Good point.

Hug.

Love…

Happiness?

Tired. I need to sleep but I can’t. I need to stop shitting but I can’t. I walk into the closet and close the door quickly. I take a little bit of plant and hold it in my hand like a small toad.

A few minutes later I am on the small bed in front of the small TV in the corner of the small room.

Smoke clouds around me and fades and more smoke appears and it seems to be a good visual metaphor for my mind.

The haze.

Nothings real.


I think I am in love again.


I am the one up at the crack of dawn banging on her door now…

Roses in my hand… thorns in my mind… love in my heart.


Step. Step. Step.

Will she be surprised?

She’ll love it.

What if she hates it?

She’ll love it.

Okay.

Creek.

In a wrinkly white t shirt and white panties.

She looks shocked.

Good!

No…

There is someone in her bed… someone with her. In her small bed, in front of her small TV, in her small room.

No!

The flowers drop to the floor and a pedals falls off. It gets taken up by the air and floats off to some better place.

I storm off.



It’s later… well it’s still now. But it’s later than it was before.

On my small bed.

A few hours closed to death.

Maybe I should paint about it… maybe I should blaze one up and paint a real odd heart or something. Maybe it will have an eye.

Or maybe write a little bit… a poem, a story, some piece of rubbish that no one will read.

What?

Shut the fuck up!

I am not doing anything wrong.

You sentimental piece of shit… you are wrong.

The tortured artist… the one who is really going to make a difference.

The one who uses drugs… but not escape… but to embrace, right? Embrace your spirit, your heart? Something like that, right sweetie? Well guess what?
What?

It’s all going to fucking die someday!

The tragedy of life is what dies inside a man while he lives.

Don’t go quoting Einstein. You can’t steal everything you know?

I don’t steal shit!

Right… I forgot. All those great ideas that die inside of you were born inside of you, right?

Knock.

Before the knock ends the doors flies open,

Mary.

I’m sorry, Danny.

Go away.

Can we talk about it?

Go away.

I brought you some of my special stuff. And those crackers you like…

I said go away. And take it all with you.

I’m just going to leave it here… just incase. You can always call me…

You are letting in mosquitoes.

Creek.

I eat the crackers… I use the stuff.

Like usual.

I dreamed for a few nights after that.

I call her. I read the number off the card and punch in the number in. Ring… Ring. No answer. Shit.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Please be home… please be home. I think they are following me again.

I open the door… her small bed is flipped over. Her doors have bullet holes in them. Her TV is broken and on the floor with shards of glass… and the roses.

My picture is hung on her wall… it is swiveling and the frame is cracked like a spider web. Where did she get my picture?

I start to cry.


I’m going to find them. I am going to kill them. Whoever took her is going to die.


I go into her closet and harvest. I harvest until there is nothing left.

I sell it… I sell it all. I cried as I sold it.

I take the money and buy a gun and a knife from a pawn shop. A classic six shooter. A large, grated, hunting knife.

The gun is in my left pocket. The knife is in my right.

I drive around town looking for them and smoking… cigarettes. Cigarettes with a few remaining trimmings of the plant in it. It’s all I have left.

I found it. I found them. The six sons of bitches who did this to her. Two woman in classy pant suits, with their hair tied back in pony tails. Four men with their hair slicked back wearing business suits.

I knew where they would be. They worked until very late in the back room of the bank… I would wait until then and smoke cigarettes to pass the time.

Hours later.

Times up.

It is almost one in the morning.

Everyone has left except for the six.

They would get what they deserve.

I get out of my car.

I run into the bank.

I grab the gun out of my pocket and run.

Smash. The glass shatters and falls all over.

I fall down. The alarm sounds.

It’s okay, I have time.
They are in the back room, the last room in the bank except for the small office in the back of that room.

I get up, cut up a little.

I pace forward and pull open the door.

They are shocked to see me, confused.

Idiots.

Assholes.

Bang. I shot the woman with wrinkles straight in the chest.

The older man with receding hairline and gray goatee runs at me.

Bang. I shot him straight in the forehead.

He flies backward and hit’s the floor hard.

I am sturdy.

I am a killer statue.

The younger woman tries to talk.

Bang.

I shoot her straight through the neck.

She falls to the floor.

I am king.

The three remaining men don’t know what to do.

One of them is young, handsome.

He probably touched her after they killed her.

Bang. I shoot him right in the groin.

My mind skips for a second.

I am Jesus, mother fuckers!

I see shadows in the corner of my eyes.

Bang. I shot one right in the eye.

One animal remains.

Filthy fuckin’ pig.

I eat you.

I am your master.

You just stand there.

Coward.

Bang. I tore open his heart… now he knows how it feels.

I drop the gun.

I hear more sirens coming.

I run out to my car, grab my bag.

I come back in.

The six fucks are still on the ground. Blood pouring out of the sacks of skins like a waterfall, staining the floor.

I go into the back office, the last room in the bank.

Only one chair.

It is more like a closet.

I sit down, take out my last cigarette.

I grab my bag and take out the little orange bottle and the big glass bottle.

I sat there for an hour or two.

Police… and probably SWAT were surrounding me.

Too scared to come on in… worried I might have another one in here I am going to kill.

I start to feel the drugs coming on very hard… I take the hunting knife and plunge it into my wrist.

A few moments later I am gushing just like the sick dead fucks in the other room.

I light the cigarette.

I brought the cigarette up to my lips.



An old woman sat in the police station… alone in a chair, waiting for an officer to return to the small gray room.

The officer walked in.
How long did you know Daniel?

Well… I wouldn’t really say I KNEW him… I observed him. We exchanged words a few times. I could hear him in his apartment, I lived right above him.

What exactly did you observe, Miss? Please… in detail.

I remember the good occasions, the bad occasions, and his very different occasions. When I first moved in we talked a few times, I knew he grew Marijuana and was very good at it. I remember when the police came… I remember him coming back several days later with what looked like a lot of prescription medication. I know he started growing again, two plants to be exact… I knew he dealt, I didn’t know he dealt so much. I never thought he was the one they talked about on the news. But he wasn’t the same. He lived inside himself, he rarely left the house. When he did leave, he would come back five minutes later… I remember he recently came back with flowers which he left outside and then brought in several hours later. He started talking to himself a while back… and he would go on and on and get louder and louder until he was too exhausted to go on and the chatter died off. Or… well. Sometimes I would smell pot and when I did the talking would stop. A few days ago, he came home and I heard him smashing things up. I looked in his window and he had destroyed one of his plants and trashed his whole apartment up. He left a few minutes later and came back. After that he I saw him leave with a large bag… I woke up when he returned at about one thirty in the morning. I couldn’t get back to sleep so I turned on my television set and heard about the shooting at the bank… a couple of hours later the police and SWAT surrounded his apartment. I hurried down there and when they busted his door down I saw him there… in that chair… dead. Blood all over.

That’s about it.





--------------------


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
InvisibleT-Rex
Herbsman
Male User Gallery


Registered: 03/15/10
Posts: 4,920
Loc: Devils Marbles Flag
Re: I am sharing with the Growery a recent piece of my writing... [Re: FRACTALife]
    #467598 - 08/26/10 04:11 AM (6 years, 3 months ago)

:awewtf:


--------------------


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
OfflineFRACTALife
Rust Fuckin' Cohle
Male User Gallery


Folding@home Statistics
Registered: 03/20/10
Posts: 6,835
Loc: Carcosa Flag
Last seen: 7 hours, 54 minutes
Re: I am sharing with the Growery a recent piece of my writing... [Re: T-Rex]
    #467614 - 08/26/10 05:51 AM (6 years, 3 months ago)

Quote:

T-Rex said:
:awewtf:



:rofl:
amphetamines and no sleep do werid shit to a person.


--------------------


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
Invisibletsollost
Master of Mopery


Registered: 06/01/08
Posts: 4,662
Re: I am sharing with the Growery a recent piece of my writing... [Re: FRACTALife]
    #467712 - 08/26/10 11:23 AM (6 years, 3 months ago)

Quote:

FRACTALife said:

amphetamines and no sleep do werid shit to a person.




and suddenly it all makes so much sense :meff:


--------------------
GUNGA GALUNGA


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
OfflineFRACTALife
Rust Fuckin' Cohle
Male User Gallery


Folding@home Statistics
Registered: 03/20/10
Posts: 6,835
Loc: Carcosa Flag
Last seen: 7 hours, 54 minutes
Re: I am sharing with the Growery a recent piece of my writing... [Re: tsollost]
    #467733 - 08/26/10 12:49 PM (6 years, 3 months ago)

Quote:

tsollost said:
Quote:

FRACTALife said:

amphetamines and no sleep do werid shit to a person.




and suddenly it all makes so much sense :meff:



:rofl:

................................


MY SKIN IS ON FIRE! :megacrankey:


But I did realize a lot about my subconscious and my mental state... guess this is good prep for burning man! :whoo:


--------------------


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
Invisiblepoor boy
Village Idiot
 User Gallery

Registered: 06/08/13
Posts: 12,473
Re: I am sharing with the Growery a recent piece of my writing... [Re: FRACTALife]
    #770883 - 03/04/15 10:40 AM (1 year, 8 months ago)

Quote:

FRACTALife said:
It is a very different style than I normally write in. I wrote it all tonight, by the way.

I am an aspiring writer and decided to do something new tonight and this is where it took me...

It is called Mental Weeds.

Hope you enjoy it.  :pimp3:


Quote:

I brought the cigarette up to my lips.
Is this a cigarette in my hand? Is this even my hand?
I really can’t tell anymore.
I took a drag. The smoke enters my mouth… hot smoke. My mouth the hot, wet atmosphere of hell.
Breathing out the smoke, I see it twirl in the air. It dances and mixes with the air. Parts of the dance are nice… very enjoyable. Parts of it are disgusting. But then it disappears… like a life… like a thought.
Like my thoughts, which seem to be blown out of some unseen mouth. They dance and fade away into some mysterious and unseen place.
I look down at my wrist… JESUS CHRIST! It’s quite red… I didn’t think skin could stain. The blood flows out of the long gash beginning at the end of my palm. It ends somewhere near the end of my forearm. There the skin comes together again and the blood stops flowing.
The blood is extreme, just like memories. Blood isn‘t like thought or smoke, it doesn’t fade away. Blood coagulates. It disappears eventually… like the memories of an old man nearing death. His memories, like all of ours, are filled with the very good, the very bad, and the very different. That’s the shit we remember… that’s the shit that is encoded in our RNA… that’s the shit that is ENGRAVED in our brain… that’s the shit that keeps on DANCING all over our neurons. That’s the shit that your conscious undresses… that’s the shit that your unconscious waves in front of you faster than your eyes can process it.
Of course, none of it really matters. A memory from a dream is no different than a memory from reality. All we really have is the present… once you get used to this idea, this idea that all of this is an illusion. Well after a few months of this sort of thinking you remember something that happened a few months ago, and it feels the same as something that happened thirty seconds ago. It’s a shame really, that people spend time thinking about the irrelevant past and the nonexistent future. It’s a shame people spend time fighting these inner and outer wars which we take far too seriously. It’s a shame people separate themselves from the universe, and from other people, when they’re all really the same energy in the same existence. It’s a damn shame that people waste their years away succumbing to fear and grief instead of peace and love. But who I am too judge… I am the one sitting here with a ten inch gash in arm and a stomach full of benzodiazepines and alcohol. I guess these last few moments, for some people, are the only moments when they truly get to live in the present.

DANNY! DANNY!
Bang. Bang. Bang.
DANNY! DANNY! OPEN UP!
I pull myself out of the bed.
Creek.
What the fuck do you want?
I want my guitar.
Step.
I want my radio.
Stomp.
And I want my fucking stuff!
Well you are the one who made the decision to leave out of the fucking blue, aren’t you?
Grabs guitar. Grabs radio. Grabs baggie of stuff from the top drawer filled with socks and boxers.
Shut the fuck up, asshole.
Jump.
Squeak.
Hold.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
I wake up in the bed, Mary is right next to me.
How did this fucking happen again?
You are the one who decided to jump on me, aren’t you?
Step.
Stomp.
Slam.
You forgot your guitar!
Creek.
Storm.
Grab.
Stomp.
Slam.

The evening news is on. They are talking about Mary… but they aren’t calling her Mary.

Dreams.


Bang. Bang. Bang.

Wakes up.

Pitter patter.

Creek.

Step.

Stomp.

Sits down on bed and crosses arms.

The evening news.

Well, did you see it?

Yes, I always see it.

They were talking about me again.

Well… you are quite popular.

This isn’t fucking funny! I could wind up in jail…

Well. Conjugal visits aren’t that different from what why have going on now, right?

Throws pillow.

You are such a stupid fuck.

Don’t forgot, I am the one who taught you to nurture life.

You are also the one who taught me how to fuck it all away.

Good point.

Hug.

Love…

Happiness?

Tired. I need to sleep but I can’t. I need to stop shitting but I can’t. I walk into the closet and close the door quickly. I take a little bit of plant and hold it in my hand like a small toad.

A few minutes later I am on the small bed in front of the small TV in the corner of the small room.

Smoke clouds around me and fades and more smoke appears and it seems to be a good visual metaphor for my mind.

The haze.

Nothings real.


I think I am in love again.


I am the one up at the crack of dawn banging on her door now…

Roses in my hand… thorns in my mind… love in my heart.


Step. Step. Step.

Will she be surprised?

She’ll love it.

What if she hates it?

She’ll love it.

Okay.

Creek.

In a wrinkly white t shirt and white panties.

She looks shocked.

Good!

No…

There is someone in her bed… someone with her. In her small bed, in front of her small TV, in her small room.

No!

The flowers drop to the floor and a pedals falls off. It gets taken up by the air and floats off to some better place.

I storm off.



It’s later… well it’s still now. But it’s later than it was before.

On my small bed.

A few hours closed to death.

Maybe I should paint about it… maybe I should blaze one up and paint a real odd heart or something. Maybe it will have an eye.

Or maybe write a little bit… a poem, a story, some piece of rubbish that no one will read.

What?

Shut the fuck up!

I am not doing anything wrong.

You sentimental piece of shit… you are wrong.

The tortured artist… the one who is really going to make a difference.

The one who uses drugs… but not escape… but to embrace, right? Embrace your spirit, your heart? Something like that, right sweetie? Well guess what?
What?

It’s all going to fucking die someday!

The tragedy of life is what dies inside a man while he lives.

Don’t go quoting Einstein. You can’t steal everything you know?

I don’t steal shit!

Right… I forgot. All those great ideas that die inside of you were born inside of you, right?

Knock.

Before the knock ends the doors flies open,

Mary.

I’m sorry, Danny.

Go away.

Can we talk about it?

Go away.

I brought you some of my special stuff. And those crackers you like…

I said go away. And take it all with you.

I’m just going to leave it here… just incase. You can always call me…

You are letting in mosquitoes.

Creek.

I eat the crackers… I use the stuff.

Like usual.

I dreamed for a few nights after that.

I call her. I read the number off the card and punch in the number in. Ring… Ring. No answer. Shit.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Please be home… please be home. I think they are following me again.

I open the door… her small bed is flipped over. Her doors have bullet holes in them. Her TV is broken and on the floor with shards of glass… and the roses.

My picture is hung on her wall… it is swiveling and the frame is cracked like a spider web. Where did she get my picture?

I start to cry.


I’m going to find them. I am going to kill them. Whoever took her is going to die.


I go into her closet and harvest. I harvest until there is nothing left.

I sell it… I sell it all. I cried as I sold it.

I take the money and buy a gun and a knife from a pawn shop. A classic six shooter. A large, grated, hunting knife.

The gun is in my left pocket. The knife is in my right.

I drive around town looking for them and smoking… cigarettes. Cigarettes with a few remaining trimmings of the plant in it. It’s all I have left.

I found it. I found them. The six sons of bitches who did this to her. Two woman in classy pant suits, with their hair tied back in pony tails. Four men with their hair slicked back wearing business suits.

I knew where they would be. They worked until very late in the back room of the bank… I would wait until then and smoke cigarettes to pass the time.

Hours later.

Times up.

It is almost one in the morning.

Everyone has left except for the six.

They would get what they deserve.

I get out of my car.

I run into the bank.

I grab the gun out of my pocket and run.

Smash. The glass shatters and falls all over.

I fall down. The alarm sounds.

It’s okay, I have time.
They are in the back room, the last room in the bank except for the small office in the back of that room.

I get up, cut up a little.

I pace forward and pull open the door.

They are shocked to see me, confused.

Idiots.

Assholes.

Bang. I shot the woman with wrinkles straight in the chest.

The older man with receding hairline and gray goatee runs at me.

Bang. I shot him straight in the forehead.

He flies backward and hit’s the floor hard.

I am sturdy.

I am a killer statue.

The younger woman tries to talk.

Bang.

I shoot her straight through the neck.

She falls to the floor.

I am king.

The three remaining men don’t know what to do.

One of them is young, handsome.

He probably touched her after they killed her.

Bang. I shoot him right in the groin.

My mind skips for a second.

I am Jesus, mother fuckers!

I see shadows in the corner of my eyes.

Bang. I shot one right in the eye.

One animal remains.

Filthy fuckin’ pig.

I eat you.

I am your master.

You just stand there.

Coward.

Bang. I tore open his heart… now he knows how it feels.

I drop the gun.

I hear more sirens coming.

I run out to my car, grab my bag.

I come back in.

The six fucks are still on the ground. Blood pouring out of the sacks of skins like a waterfall, staining the floor.

I go into the back office, the last room in the bank.

Only one chair.

It is more like a closet.

I sit down, take out my last cigarette.

I grab my bag and take out the little orange bottle and the big glass bottle.

I sat there for an hour or two.

Police… and probably SWAT were surrounding me.

Too scared to come on in… worried I might have another one in here I am going to kill.

I start to feel the drugs coming on very hard… I take the hunting knife and plunge it into my wrist.

A few moments later I am gushing just like the sick dead fucks in the other room.

I light the cigarette.

I brought the cigarette up to my lips.



An old woman sat in the police station… alone in a chair, waiting for an officer to return to the small gray room.

The officer walked in.
How long did you know Daniel?

Well… I wouldn’t really say I KNEW him… I observed him. We exchanged words a few times. I could hear him in his apartment, I lived right above him.

What exactly did you observe, Miss? Please… in detail.

I remember the good occasions, the bad occasions, and his very different occasions. When I first moved in we talked a few times, I knew he grew Marijuana and was very good at it. I remember when the police came… I remember him coming back several days later with what looked like a lot of prescription medication. I know he started growing again, two plants to be exact… I knew he dealt, I didn’t know he dealt so much. I never thought he was the one they talked about on the news. But he wasn’t the same. He lived inside himself, he rarely left the house. When he did leave, he would come back five minutes later… I remember he recently came back with flowers which he left outside and then brought in several hours later. He started talking to himself a while back… and he would go on and on and get louder and louder until he was too exhausted to go on and the chatter died off. Or… well. Sometimes I would smell pot and when I did the talking would stop. A few days ago, he came home and I heard him smashing things up. I looked in his window and he had destroyed one of his plants and trashed his whole apartment up. He left a few minutes later and came back. After that he I saw him leave with a large bag… I woke up when he returned at about one thirty in the morning. I couldn’t get back to sleep so I turned on my television set and heard about the shooting at the bank… a couple of hours later the police and SWAT surrounded his apartment. I hurried down there and when they busted his door down I saw him there… in that chair… dead. Blood all over.

That’s about it.








:facepalm:

This guy has been fucked for ages... I thought it was a new thing... Explains a lot though.


--------------------
Learning to love life by living through loss and mistakes
Lessons learned then gradually surfacing, Letting go, stripping naked to scream
I am not perfect nor do I strive to be, I am alive in this world of face first falls and public breakdowns
I'm a retarded, disfigured clown
Dying to be heard through the simple art of letting this heavy wall finally fall
I'm an equal being of no race, or color, a hallucination if you will
Sneaking into the lives of strangers, and letting them fall apart to a new rhythm just to feel better


Edited by Stoneth (03/04/15 12:59 PM)


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
OfflineSham87
マリオ
Male


Registered: 03/20/12
Posts: 6,119
Last seen: 8 hours, 31 minutes
Re: I am sharing with the Growery a recent piece of my writing... [Re: FRACTALife]
    #770886 - 03/04/15 10:57 AM (1 year, 8 months ago)

I have a feeling you're going to be one of those writers who dies young :shrug:


--------------------
...once in a while you get shown the light in the strangest of places if you look at it right...



Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
OfflineeNtranceAsexit
Bang-a-Bang-Boogie


Registered: 11/23/10
Posts: 1,345
Last seen: 1 day, 8 hours
Re: I am sharing with the Growery a recent piece of my writing... [Re: Sham87]
    #770908 - 03/04/15 02:06 PM (1 year, 8 months ago)

oh well, it's his thing. the best people cannot fade it.

PS: OP, i thought it was interesting. the Creek Creek (should be Creak) and the movements and the environment playing movements in a singular vision, really helps accentuate the emotions that the character portrays. i thought alot of it was very poetic, too.

nice little short story man. :thumbup:


Edited by eNtranceAsexit (03/04/15 02:27 PM)


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
OfflineSham87
マリオ
Male


Registered: 03/20/12
Posts: 6,119
Last seen: 8 hours, 31 minutes
Re: I am sharing with the Growery a recent piece of my writing... [Re: eNtranceAsexit]
    #770910 - 03/04/15 03:20 PM (1 year, 8 months ago)

Not fading it just get that vibe off what he chooses to post about his personal life.


--------------------
...once in a while you get shown the light in the strangest of places if you look at it right...



Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
Invisibledrawde
 Arcade Champion: Balloon Bomber

Registered: 11/15/09
Posts: 4,780
Re: I am sharing with the Growery a recent piece of my writing... [Re: Sham87] * 2
    #770912 - 03/04/15 03:48 PM (1 year, 8 months ago)

God that was awful.

Once upon a day I thought fractal was just a mixed up kid who would get his shit sorted out.

That day has long past.


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
OfflineeNtranceAsexit
Bang-a-Bang-Boogie


Registered: 11/23/10
Posts: 1,345
Last seen: 1 day, 8 hours
Re: I am sharing with the Growery a recent piece of my writing... [Re: drawde] * 1
    #770948 - 03/04/15 09:45 PM (1 year, 8 months ago)

the world is shit, too; and it doesn't sort itself out, so... :shrug:

Quote:

Sham87 said:
Not fading it just get that vibe off what he chooses to post about his personal life.



some people are self-destructive. the world seems rather self-destructive too, so maybe there is a correlation there.


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
InvisibleMycophile
 User Gallery Arcade Champion: Frogger, Ms. Pacman, Pac Man, Space Invaders

Registered: 03/17/12
Posts: 2,310
Re: I am sharing with the Growery a recent piece of my writing... [Re: FRACTALife] * 4
    #770950 - 03/04/15 09:48 PM (1 year, 8 months ago)

I like the part where he fucks his cousin.


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
OfflineFRACTALife
Rust Fuckin' Cohle
Male User Gallery


Folding@home Statistics
Registered: 03/20/10
Posts: 6,835
Loc: Carcosa Flag
Last seen: 7 hours, 54 minutes
Re: I am sharing with the Growery a recent piece of my writing... [Re: FRACTALife] * 1
    #771380 - 03/09/15 09:28 PM (1 year, 8 months ago)

That was four years ago you idiots


--------------------


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
Invisiblenannybooboo
 User Gallery
Registered: 04/23/11
Posts: 3,089
Re: I am sharing with the Growery a recent piece of my writing... [Re: FRACTALife] * 2
    #771381 - 03/09/15 09:44 PM (1 year, 8 months ago)

and it still sucks, lol.

also:

Quote:

Mycophile said:
I like the part where he fucks his cousin.





Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
OfflineKing Koopa
Natty
 User Gallery Arcade Champion: Bowling

Registered: 06/26/08
Posts: 11,159
Last seen: 20 days, 12 hours
Re: I am sharing with the Growery a recent piece of my writing... [Re: nannybooboo] * 1
    #771382 - 03/09/15 09:54 PM (1 year, 8 months ago)

Quote:

nannybooboo said:
and it still sucks, lol.

also:

Quote:

Mycophile said:
I like the part where he fucks his cousin.








--------------------
Alcoholics Anonymous is a fellowship of men and women who share their experience, strength and hope with each other that they may solve their common problem and help others to recover from alcoholism.

The only requirement for membership is a desire to stop drinking. There are no dues or fees for A.A. membership; we are self-supporting through our own contributions. A.A. is not allied with any sect, denomination, politics, organization or institution; does not wish to engage in any controversy; neither endorses nor opposes any causes. Our primary purpose is to stay sober and help other alcoholics to achieve sobriety.


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
InvisibleDeadkndys420
 User Gallery

Registered: 08/28/12
Posts: 7,820
Loc: █████
Re: I am sharing with the Growery a recent piece of my writing... [Re: King Koopa]
    #771383 - 03/09/15 09:59 PM (1 year, 8 months ago)

Quote:

King Koopa said:
Quote:

nannybooboo said:
and it still sucks, lol.

also:

Quote:

Mycophile said:
I like the part where he fucks his cousin.











Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
OfflineBumble_Dick
loathsome brute
Male User Gallery

Registered: 08/23/13
Posts: 3,924
Loc: cage-free tomatoes
Last seen: 1 month, 17 days
Re: I am sharing with the Growery a recent piece of my writing... [Re: Deadkndys420]
    #771387 - 03/09/15 10:52 PM (1 year, 8 months ago)

Quote:

Deadkndys420 said:
Quote:

King Koopa said:
Quote:

nannybooboo said:
and it still sucks, lol.

also:

Quote:

Mycophile said:
I like the part where he fucks his cousin.














Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
InvisibleBen18
Drunk Derelict
Male User Gallery Arcade Champion: Beach Bobbing Bob, Funky Pong, Spank the Monkey

Registered: 04/22/08
Posts: 3,189
Re: I am sharing with the Growery a recent piece of my writing... [Re: Bumble_Dick]
    #771532 - 03/10/15 06:45 PM (1 year, 8 months ago)

:lol:

best part is he seems impervious to any harassment about his cousin sex-capades.


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
InvisibleBlueBerry_SwisherS
Heart Slowed
 User Gallery


Registered: 12/19/10
Posts: 3,303
Loc: Raw Headspace Flag
Re: I am sharing with the Growery a recent piece of my writing... [Re: Ben18] * 3
    #771538 - 03/10/15 07:22 PM (1 year, 8 months ago)

i like the part where it ends.


--------------------


Let food be thy medicine


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
OfflineBumble_Dick
loathsome brute
Male User Gallery

Registered: 08/23/13
Posts: 3,924
Loc: cage-free tomatoes
Last seen: 1 month, 17 days
Re: I am sharing with the Growery a recent piece of my writing... [Re: BlueBerry_Swisher]
    #771542 - 03/10/15 08:24 PM (1 year, 8 months ago)

:archiebunker:


Post Extras: Print Post  Remind Me! Notify Moderator
Jump to top. Pages: 1 | 2 | Next >  [ show all ]

Amazon Shop for: The Doors, Toilet Paper

Community >> The Smoke Lounge

Similar ThreadsPosterViewsRepliesLast post
* Wanted to share my new pieces BlzdLivng 754 6 06/17/10 04:20 AM
by T-Rex
* OFFICIAL GROWERY ART THREAD.
( 1 2 3 4 ... 20 21 all )
iStoner 40,823 415 02/24/14 07:32 PM
by agmotes165
* The Growery Christmas Thread
( 1 2 3 all )
P-O 2,923 42 12/25/14 10:51 PM
by P-O
* You want an example of a dumb little piece of shit? Manitou 452 3 04/03/12 06:50 PM
by Manitou
* Name your favorite growery Troll
( 1 2 3 4 all )
MR.HEADY 8,192 65 08/31/10 10:37 PM
by CosmicFool
* Cartoony pieces. Cannaboid 622 3 10/08/09 11:06 PM
by Triptonic
* Post your Pieces!
( 1 2 all )
dude7932288 3,800 32 10/11/08 08:52 PM
by PsilocybinMike
* No Piece, No Peace. Know Piece, Know Peace, spacemonkey69 849 12 04/11/10 03:28 PM
by Buddy

Extra information
You cannot start new topics / You cannot reply to topics
HTML is disabled / BBCode is enabled
Moderator: FurrowedBrow, Harry_Ba11sach, Stoneth, Dr. Siekadellyk
2,420 topic views. 4 members, 654 guests and 416 web crawlers are browsing this forum.
[ Toggle Favorite | Print Topic | Stats ]
Search this thread:
RVF Garden Supply
Please support our sponsors.

Copyright 1997-2016 Mind Media. Some rights reserved.

Generated in 0.18 seconds spending 0.006 seconds on 16 queries.