From: owner-eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org (eda-thoughts-digest) To: eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org Subject: eda-thoughts-digest V3 #10 Reply-To: eda-thoughts@smoe.org Sender: owner-eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org Errors-To: owner-eda-thoughts-digest@smoe.org Precedence: bulk eda-thoughts-digest Monday, January 10 2000 Volume 03 : Number 010 * If you ever wish to unsubscribe, send an email to * eda-thoughts-digest-request@smoe.org with ONLY * the word unsubscribe in the body of the email * . * PLEASE :) when you reply to this digest to send a post TO the list, * change the subject to reflect what your post is about. A subject * of Re: eda-thoughts-digest V3 #xxx or the like gives readers no clue * as to what your message is about. Today's Subjects: ----------------- ET: a response to annie's "uncertainties of living in vain" [kara garbe <] ET: I lie in your bed [kara garbe ] ET: ~ thousand&more ~ ["marty" ] ET: ~ she's waiting by a full-length mirror ~ ["marty" ] ET: *grumble* ["Dani"] ET: strange times [genben@usa.net] ET: ridicule(massively important poem) [KTLUVSJOE@aol.com] ET: Short psycho-analysis [Annie ] ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Sun, 9 Jan 2000 23:26:40 -0500 (Eastern Standard Time) From: kara garbe Subject: ET: a response to annie's "uncertainties of living in vain" I am writing this because I know of no other way to touch a person than through language. My voice has been lost and found a hundred times over, beautiful and hoarse and ignored and silent all at once, and yet never failing me. I have been scared and at times I have lost hope. I once wrote that I was beyond recovery. I fell into hiding, into dark rooms and loud music played through headphones into ears that served as passages whose only use was to numb the mind. I screamed so loudly inside that I couldn't believe that no one else would hear it. I once curled up on the top bunk in my dorm room until my friend, reaching up with thin but strong arms, pulled me off the bed. I struggled against his embrace, afraid I would drop to the cold floor, but he did not let me. He pulled me off; I have learned that harshness is sometimes necessary when there is a truth that you do not want to face. What truth, you ask? It can be anything. Yourself, your family, your friends, the world. I tied up all my hopes into a bundle and kicked them into the future, then denied any vision to myself. I blindfolded myself because the light hurt my eyes; I sat in darkness for two hours and then I began to feel something stretching out around me. There is life out there, I promise there is. Start with the things that cannot hurt you. If you know no people who are enough, then look to the rocks and trees and sky. Find the gentleness in life, the beauty, the things that you don't have to be afraid of. You will always see the future before you, uncertain, but you cannot live in fear of that. You have to find the thing inside of you that makes life worth living for. Sometimes it takes another person to make you see that; but you cannot live for another person. You have to live for you and you have to have the courage to do it. What is confusing you? Strip it away. Strip it down. Sit in the darkness and talk to yourself--ask yourself what you want. Don't let any answer satisfy you. Ask yourself, again and again. Speak the answers before you have time to think about them. Say aloud the words that most scare you. Your hope is correct--there is a boundless, circular love. Do you feel that right now? I do. Imagine yourself stretching out, outside these walls that we were not meant to dwell in. Nothing is ever as you intend it, but that does not mean that it must disappoint or that you are unworthy of it. Cultivate honesty, in yourself and in others. Be honest with yourself, first and foremost. There is no such thing as fate. Seek the truth. Do not worry about fear or bravery or tears or blood or drama or suffering. The only thing that has been promised to you is the entire world -- what will you do with it? Start with yourself. (and if you haven't seen "american beauty", go watch it.) ............................................................................ ................... Annie's original post: > Uncertainties of Living in Vain > (Where Do I Go From Here?) > I am writing this because I know of no other way to express myself. My only > voice is my scrawny pencil. I am scared (words that would never escape my > lips), and I have lost my hope. I wanted so much to be brave, I clung to > hope with my broken fingernails. I had never considered myself the type to > set aside words and invert herself. My introspection has begun. Time slips > through my fingers as sand, and I dare not scoop it up again. I never > thought I would have to look for who I was, what I was to become, or where > my loyalties lie. My seashells are old, and the oceansong within them is > starting to fade. New shells sparkle along the shore. Dare I leave my > harbor for the promise of something new and unexplored? Will their song be > any greater, or do I imagine, expect, too much? I am only a spider web. > Pieces of me fly silken and broken in the breeze, but several spiders come > to my aid. I am grateful, but how do I know which spiders are poisonous? I > refuse to be home to venom. Where do my loyalties lie? Where does > friendship end? I have found a new oceansong, and it is love. Not a > singular love, but a circular love. The limits of which know no bounds...at > least, that is my hope. Is anything as you intend? Is there any point in > trying to control your fate? I hope to find bravery. Am I only courageous > because I am near to those who love me? I shiver, I shake. Even now, tears > fall down my blushing cheeks. I never thought I was the dramatic sort. I > guess maybe I am. But...is bravery walking across the broken glass goblets, > even though they make you bleed? Is the promise of something greater worth > suffering for, or is the promise too empty; empty as a songless seashell? ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 10 Jan 2000 00:02:10 -0500 (Eastern Standard Time) From: kara garbe Subject: ET: I lie in your bed I lie in your bed, leaking salted regrets into your chest while you speak words meant for another. Reprimands, lessons, rules that I should have learned long ago but by which I will not allow myself to live now. Those same hands that once pulled me from a bunk, from the floor, from a crumbling unrecoverable snarl now stroke me gently in peace against your side and I find only muted shades of despair leaking out of my eyes. You pull me up, leading me away to the door, as I say that I must go but your hands and lips and tongue fight me until I collapse against you again to listen to the question that I myself cannot answer: "What are we?" No, we're not together, you're just the man I sleep with so please stop fighting this and take me with everything that you are. There will be no promises or rings or vows and there will be other women for you and for me, other men. But please, tell me again and again until I believe it that you love me for ever and for everything that I am, then hold me until the regrets stop coming and let it simply be me and you, lying peacefully in your bed. ............................ 1.9.00 kara garbe garbe@virginia.edu ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 10 Jan 2000 13:21:35 +0100 From: "marty" Subject: ET: ~ thousand&more ~ comment*s well comed all ways take kares m a r t y ¤ written inhere narrow bed of mobilici ty tres cellular connectivity in creativi ty )*( glow )*( backlights into the deep makes it grow unsideways upward s in circles encircles envelopes embraces ¤ yesh you know where i am doing what i am you know sheepcount*close tonight and those are kanot zes shivbaby tres kadeux pour vous the whole night feel them anywhere on you wherever you want ~you're just like an angel your skin makes me cry you float like a feather in a beautiful world~ the wind blow s 1000 whispers from those two winter dry by tongue moist pillows of softness kareshing your lily änglakishes your inviteful dresh remember the beautiful full-length nightie god made for you for those speshial moments in between you know ¤ smiles for all the joy we share for all the 1000 cheers already for all the millions yet to be evoked how does it feel to be kissed by a smile ¤ oceans like skandinavian gulf streams tres warmie just love this one we learned fast how to swim just like this fastened to each other's sides by a web fishie finns specially made 1000 oceans or just one remind me baby to have them counted when we gaze down from the skies that day you know ~that day~ ¤ m.8. ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 10 Jan 2000 14:29:41 +0100 From: "marty" Subject: ET: ~ she's waiting by a full-length mirror ~ - --it's watchin you when he's not there. = resting my gaze by closing eyelids have an inside, you know getting used to moonlight seeing a vivid picture watching from behind a natural pillow soft cushioned sheets for the eye to slumber through sweet dreams "in the form of" natures beautifully shaped landscapes marvel hills canyons and valleys watchin goldcrests orbiting above her crown little red-haired faeries leaving sparkling traces of glittering stardust falling from their wands attracted to her blushing shimmery cheeks aura like aurora borealis purple is for sensu elle elektrik~ undulating shadowy places pretty girl down the harbour remembering the dream of the dolphin boy and the rising of the tidal waves how she was taught "it's influenced by the attraction of the almost full moon.." hearing the roar and the whispers far across tranquil seas witnessing another surge torrent upon sloping dreamland hearing another sound quietly noisess familiar (from stories told ~ ago) then there comes silence final resort for post exhausted repose t quivering embraces complete peace for synchronized senses final rest for retina deep and blue green shadowed by another fine lined redess tress black holes in the middle excititing to fall asleep (like thish) zero gravity and drowning thudding lightly upon riverbed below pretty girl down the harbour comes to my rescue learned how to swim and here i am oh dolphin boy lying on her floor again part of revivifying attempts mouth-to-mouth with relish for widely awake to another day in her wonderland ~*¤~*¤~*¤~*¤~*¤~ ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 10 Jan 2000 16:28:14 GMT From: "Dani" Subject: ET: *grumble* Being that this is the thoughts list... I'm gonna go off on what's on my mind ..... Okay so I open my mail this morning, look at the ol Jewel list.. and I noticed that a good chunk of those messages were people going on and on and on about Jewel's hair... the only question that comes across my mind is what does it matter? How much longer will we choose to wade in the shallow end of the image pool? I've never seen one person be judged so much by one group of people. She's not a goddess, she's not the purest soul who ever walked on the face of the earth, she's just a girl with a guitar. _ Dani(elle) *{\o/}* ~ the strange angel /_\ (Hi Jason & Sonja) ------------------------------ Date: 10 Jan 00 12:19:24 EST From: genben@usa.net Subject: ET: strange times strange things happen when you pay attention. life comes and goes when you expect it to (or not). the hopeless (helpless) operators of an ancient, outdated, inefficient machine sit idly by while others bleed to death in the middle of the street, thinking only of the sweet vengence they will wreak on the criminal and not of what could be done to prevent. rise up, my friends! show them that you are not of them... care for each other, be your brother's keeper... guilt rests not only with those that do wrong, but also with those that allow wrong to be done... where will you be when the system crashes down - - among the rubble / or on the mountain? i watched two people die on saturday night. ____________________________________________________________________ Get free email and a permanent address at http://www.netaddress.com/?N=1 ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 10 Jan 2000 18:48:15 EST From: KTLUVSJOE@aol.com Subject: ET: ridicule(massively important poem) Ridicule leads to pain leads to heartache leads to destruction destruction of your only soul to never regain the faith you had in life ridicule leads to paranoia leads to thoughts of death leads to painful realizations your all alone in the world "I Got your back" until they find something funny about you. then the cycle starts over. you tell me "your too stupid" "there she goes again" falling from grace in the one persons eyes who i cant risk falling from. Help me kind sir, your jokes are brusing me from years of ridicule and maybe I cant take a joke because the pain is too strong and the memories return. But its not your fault. I need you now. when I'm at my weakest. Help them leave. help destroy the pain with your love. You did it once before I'm sure you can do it again please defend this poor peasant. this defenseless person who wears a cloak of a bitch but thats only outward appearances. shes a very tender person inside if she digs deeper than the pain. help this lost soul, She needs it to survive. comments welcome Katherine ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 10 Jan 2000 21:17:23 -0500 From: Annie Subject: ET: Short psycho-analysis Hi! I wanted to post this snippet to get opinions on it. It's a little piece I wrote while roleplaying (I dare not call it a story-it's not one). I wrote it for my character, Sycha. This was at a time when no one was in the room and she was alone. But previously, she had just come to Ravensdale (where I roleplay), and met a guy named Maliche Traador. Later, she sought him out; she wanted to "play" with him, but has an odd sense of what is and isn't fun. Blah blah blah, he ended up giving her the cold shoulder and walking away. Any comments or flames about what can be derived about Sycha's personality would be appreciated. Email me personally, please. (Oh, yeah. Her *faulty skin or her murder mark is a tattoo on her cheek. The mark of a fugitive. In her native land, murderers were tattooed before imprisonment in case they escaped. That way they could be easily identified.) A sigh escapes her lips silently, a puff of fog in the dim early morning light. She shivers as she leans on the skeletal frame of a birch tree, bent and twisted with age as though meaning to kiss the earth. Kiss the earth... She slowly and lithely moves her body in the position of the tree, crimson cold lips poised barely above the frozen soil. And she listens. Time staggers on. The wind shakes its fist at the tree, and her body flows with it. A little shaky at first, but the wind gathers strength. It passes through her and the tree as though they are one and the same. And finally, her lips press against the earth. Ashes to ashes, Dust to dust. From the dust mankind was made, and to it we all shall return. Why do men try to deny the earth? Arrogance was spawned from the desire to be above others, above the dust of the soil. Her loneliness was spawned from her spectrum. I'm crazy. I swear to God I am. No one else understands. But you understand, Tree. You are not afraid of reality. You are me. The cold is numbing, soothing. She had been foolish. Why should she give her trust to someone who didn't deserve it? She could only trust herself. She rarely let herself down; and when she was wrong, she always admitted it. At least, to herself. So cold... ~~~ I'm crazy. I swear to God I am. No one else understands. But you understand, Tree. You are not afraid of reality. You are me. She lets her magic flow in her, all silver and hungry. And then the rain came. Just once... A tear on her cheek, half-past her *faulty skin, her murder mark. A chilling blast of early morning winter air quickly freezes it. In the alchemy of dawn, it becomes a diamond on her flesh; the hardest of all jewels. The symbolism is not beyond her. She takes it and wraps a wire cage of silver threaded magic about the tear-shaped thing, so small and seemingly insignificant. She places it about her neck, letting it rest in the hollow of her collarbone, Where marrow meets marrow in a wing-shaped greeting. I am not so far down now, am I? Am I beyond recognition to myself? I can plow through this cave. I was meant to... no looking back... She shivers slightly as she bends her body now, lower to the earth. Like a cradle, like a curving swan, so pale and ready to fly. Her magic flows as a river of mud, the lethargy of hunger. She hadn't eaten for days. She had no money, and winter had left her with no game to hunt. No longer a predator, her hands sweep the earth for mercy. ~~~ Why did she bother him? Had she actually gone to ask for help...? She didn't think she ever would. But then again... Hunger drove people to do things they usually would not. What was his last name...? Tradorr.. Traddor... Traitor. That's funny. And it makes perfect sense. She laughs softly to herself, a dull, aching bruise-stricken sound. Eventually she stops. Laughing causes her pain and her throat never was very strong. The weakness of her voice implies that she is holding power in reserve but... nothing. Her voice is simply weak. Ever since... Pale lady, pale soldier, Where do you run to now? Pale moonbeam, pale boulder, Are you strong enough to bow? I am so hungry... I wonder if madness is the source of hunger, or if hunger causes madness. She turns now, lifting her body slowly from the cold soil as though she does with great difficulty and lethargy. She leans her whole upper body against the gnarled bark. The tree is beauty made strength through age and grace. Her lips murmur against its flesh, whispering a sonnet in her native tongue. Ret-tet, Ret-tet, the beat lulls on. Her lips slowly open wider... her tongue flicks out like a dragon's. First taste. Finally, her mouth engulfs a piece of peeling birch skin and her tongue pulls it in. Like a deer, in times of cold she would resort to wood. ~~~ Eventually, she quits. Poor thing needed its own flesh to survive... she gives it that much and once more leans on it as though she were a normal girl. A normal girl who did not eat bark. A normal girl from a normal family where a normal daddy tucked his normal daughter into a normal bed and made love to his normal wife. She pulls her cloak more tightly about her shoulders. Her hands runs along her thighs, protected and kept warm by her bodysuit of dragon hide. Her hands, however, she rarely covered. She liked to watch and see what her hands would do. The bulky material of warmth held back true freedom. Liberation? She considers it. She actually pauses to consider taking her clothes off. But being so close to civilization, the part of her that is still slightly well-mannered frowns upon it. No, Sycha, she says, wagging her finger. You're trying too hard. Winging symbolisms don't make real your desires. Damn. I wish it was that easy. Nothing is that easy. Not for me. She folds her arms across her chest, closing her eyes to finally get some sleep. She had nowhere to go, nothing to do. She may as well take her time and be rested before leaving this place. As she lies there, pale and sleeping, she looks surreal. A delicate porcelain doll, an ethereal dream painted by an insane artist. Elegant bone, Ivory in contrast to dark hair... But it suits her. ~~~ Dreams dance about Horrid little sting, Laughing little thing. Her eyelashes cringe She shivers. The night was a demon With chilling breath. Alone is her companion Hunger her nemesis Dueling over tastebuds. Sweatdrop stains the brow In the cold dawn of winter Eyes open, wide, surprised Gasp of disturbed rest Startled fear. If only I had someone to talk to. Someone other than myself. Sycha, conversation is wasted on your ears, love. Sycha, only morning listens to your prattle. Oh, shut up. Be normal. Right now, she would love to die some Her breath warms her white knuckles and her toes are numb and deaf Perhaps if I had manners, I wouldn't be here. But unfortunately, I do have a conscience. ~~~ - -Annie ------------------------------ End of eda-thoughts-digest V3 #10 *********************************