![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
*waves*
Yes, I'm not dead. I've been in a bit of a funk, lately. It's like my mind has suddenly caught up with my depth of feeling and I'm reeling trying to cope with the pace I've been thinking at. Not that I was stupid before....I don't know how to explain it. Anyway. This isn't a poem or a story or a songfic. I don't know how to describe it, other than a stream of consciousness. Most nights before I go to sleep, I listen to "Shackled" by Vertical Horizon because it's my favorite song, and my own little twisted lullaby. I love it. Usually when I'm listening to it, a stream of images comes to mind. This probably happens to everyone when they listen to music, I have no idea. But with me, it happens a lot more when I listen to this song. I'm not sure why. So, anyway, here it is. This only goes from the beginning until right before the first chorus because then this wave of tired washed over me and I just kind of set the pen down. So, here it is. If you listen to the song while reading, you should be able to figure out that pretty much every line comes after a lyric. The first bit is just during the music without words. You know, I think I'm the only loser who spends more words explaining her writing than she does writing. Anyway.
I know this has no literary value. I guess it's just here as an example of where my writing's at right now, which is basically nowhere. I can't even write crappy poetry any more. So here is my stream of crap.
A dandelion seed, floating gently on the wind, slowly spiraling up. The sky is dark, and this is happening over a grassy field.
A person, in a transparent cage, straining violently against invisible shackles. Their body is lavcerated, perhaps with inner grief.
A girl with dark hair, crying quietly in a dark corner.
A pair of wise eyes piercing darkness to see two ghost-like figures dancing around each other in spirals.
Two people running, laughing, in an open field.
Two people running through a doorway. One stops suddenly and slashes a knife across the gut of the other. He falls, clutching. Blood.
The cut one stands, vengeance ebbing from his eyes. His lips curl into a snarl and he pitches forward, landing face-first into water without flinching.
Water splashes, bubbles.
A hawk, flying in the air. It turns, slowly turning to the right. It falls to the hard cement. Two birds soaring, then crawling slowly with broken wings through hellish fire.
Two empty, worn hands, stretched out.
A strong, defiant person suddenly collapses, clutching themselves, trying to offer themselves comfort.
I know this has no literary value. I guess it's just here as an example of where my writing's at right now, which is basically nowhere. I can't even write crappy poetry any more. So here is my stream of crap.
A dandelion seed, floating gently on the wind, slowly spiraling up. The sky is dark, and this is happening over a grassy field.
A person, in a transparent cage, straining violently against invisible shackles. Their body is lavcerated, perhaps with inner grief.
A girl with dark hair, crying quietly in a dark corner.
A pair of wise eyes piercing darkness to see two ghost-like figures dancing around each other in spirals.
Two people running, laughing, in an open field.
Two people running through a doorway. One stops suddenly and slashes a knife across the gut of the other. He falls, clutching. Blood.
The cut one stands, vengeance ebbing from his eyes. His lips curl into a snarl and he pitches forward, landing face-first into water without flinching.
Water splashes, bubbles.
A hawk, flying in the air. It turns, slowly turning to the right. It falls to the hard cement. Two birds soaring, then crawling slowly with broken wings through hellish fire.
Two empty, worn hands, stretched out.
A strong, defiant person suddenly collapses, clutching themselves, trying to offer themselves comfort.
no subject
no subject
no subject
(Anonymous) 2004-04-27 10:01 pm (UTC)(link)Just a thought... Writing doesn't have to have literary value. It's like when people say other people's opinions are wrong... it's someone's OPINION, how can it be wrong?
Same goes of writing. Sure, class papers and essays have to make sense, have structure. But writing for yourself doesn't have to have anything. Sometimes I just write and read it the next morning and realize that half the words are words I made up! Seriously, I wasn't able to write for a very long time. Just physically couldn't do it. And when I started, it was crap. But it's better now. Now, I get caught up in it. Sometimes it DOESN'T make sense. But it doesn't have to. It's my thoughts. No one can tell me what I'm thinking is wrong or bad.
If that makes any sense...
Rikki
no subject