Write something!

[KMD]

Just for fun, lets write something. Anything. No editing! Make it raw.

Lengthy needles driven into, the skin, I flinched for I did not want to see. Later I would cry about this, but it was for the good. Word around is that we are all diseased. I trust the superiors because I can't trust myself. My disease has to do with mental degradation, a slow process that infects grey matter like a foot fungus and turns it into feta cheese. But it takes a decade to become terminal. The shots really help, they do! If it weren't for the shots I KNOW that life would be so much harder for me, and the symptoms, I barely notice now. The superiors say that I could live a healthy normal life until i'm 40 least.

We are not prisoners. The superiors give us shots weekly, and then let us be on our merry way. During the days I work in the grotto, an aluminum mining facility. Its real dirty. I never do any actual mining though, most of the laborers are Chinese slaves. I landed a safe comfortable gig checking inventory and repairing equipment due to my mechanical background working in the tank factory during the war. At night, I go back to the Berrymore hospital and live with most of the other immigrants. Its not bad.

I like being told what to do, and the rare times when I'm given freedom I think too much about senseless things that don't matter. The other day, I spent an hour in an open field, looking around at the browning grass, of furs in the distance, a false sense of freedom. I've never known what that means, have you ever considered that we are never free? We are bound by this unholy rock, by the limits of space, by the consequences of other men. Their decisions can impact your life, but I've learned that we will adjust to whatever conditions we need to survive in, no matter how ugly they seem.

I hope that you receive this, for I dislike wasting my limited thoughts and actions. Inside everyone there is a system of wants, driven by pleasure receptors in your brain, and that brain is a living thing, mortal and prone to failure. Knowing I have a limited life, it is something that I can still grasp and understand and deal with. The shots help me focus mentally, but they also keep me docile like a captured giant panda. Its a tradeoff. I must adjourn for now. Remember me, and I will never die. Do not be scared.
-signal terminated

[AcdQueen89]

Qualivyn (pronouced Kalvin) pulled the transmission out of the fax machine and put it no Herr Doktor's desk. He was getting really tired of the interspace transmissions from refugees. The war had been over for a generation but they still expected help from the Interplanetary Modular Otherwordly Denizen Interspecies Underwater Mergence (IMODIUM).

Herr Doktor had devoted his life to saving the tired, hungry, unwanted masses. Qualivyn was just here for his civic summer after graduating the Young Person's Academy. He was unimpressed at the transmissions that came in daily. Herr Doktor would be over the moon at this one, a message from the grotto was rare. Qualivyn only knew of one previous transmission, a young girl who didnt survive long enough for her transmission to be recieved.

Qualivyn hoped Herr Doktor wouldn't want to go out chasing this transmission. Qualivyn wasnt sure he had recovered from their last rescue mission.

[TK]

Herr Doktor absently fumbled his pocket watch into his waistcoat pocket, strode to his chair decisively, bit his lip then sat waveringly before shooting up in an awkward stumble proclaiming in his perfect English accent, "Egads Calbert! what a Bally sad mess, away we go to save this poor wretched soul!"

Quailvyn took his head in his hand and groaned softly, mentally preparing to pack 'the collection'.

[KMD]

Dmitri was in the spacebound cocoon. The helmet tight around his squishy shell. He could close his eyes for a few seconds and pretend that it was all a dream, or that he was in another  place. Blackness covered the porthole, and inside the cocoon the array of copius mechanical switches seemed etheral and a familiarity long lost. He wasn't prepared to escape in his mind. Something seemed to unnatural.

[KMD]

Heres something I found, that I wrote several years ago, about a dream that I had roughly 15 years ago (when I was 8 or 9 I think). You know, one of those dreams that you remember your whole life. Do you guys remember any old dreams? Its unedited.

Laying down on the plush veneer interior, flying on the rail tracks at 200 mph, staring through  the glass oclulus, chewing on a toothpick. I felt like a shnarky businessman in my italian name brand suit, but I kicked my shoes off, rustled my hair, and sighed deep. On the roof, I could hear stomping, startling me a little.I breathed deeply again. A figure looked down through the glass at me; A freddie crouger mask, a snarled look. He reached out a claw and poked the glass a few times. The scratching work I could see was tough for him. He was getting in, but I was not afraid; He was a void of my imagination. As the final scratched cleared the circular cut, the plate fell.

[KMD]

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[BlueCross]

Turing reviewed the latest transmission yet again, baffled by the seemingly incoherent sequence of letters.
As he slowly inspected the vast myriad of relays, levers, and valves, he was suddenly startled to see a ceramic pot on the third shelf of rotors.

"JOAN!  I have told you a thousand times!  This is NOT a tea cozy!"

[The Hanged Man]

Something

[Dessert Ranger]

(I don't know how to write)
The crackle was heard from overhead.
His clothes were blue and red, heavy and made of wool.
The blackness is coming in and out, like a candle flickering.
He is cold, but the Red in front made his remaining blood boil.
He tries to stand, but his body has failed him as he can only lay and watch as the Red grew.
The painful breath that left his mouth indicated his end on the northern foreign soil, just across the Falls.

(was bored so I wanted to write about the War of 1812)

[BlueCross]

(was bored so I wanted to write about the War of 1812)

Cool war!  (if wars can be cool...)

[KMD]

[The following is an attempt at translating the expression of kinesthetic keyboard typing into visual arrangements of computer text, rather than the characters themselves or the use the english language. This was typed on an Apple keyboard circa late 2006. Oh an also keep an eye out for hidden words]
[edit: MOTHERFUCKER!  I SPENT ABOUT 10 MINUTES TYPING ONLY TO HAVE IT DELETE EVERYTHING DUE TO A KEYSTROKE, believe it or not thats the 3rd or 4th time I've tried to do this on this board and that has happened! but I digress here goes...]

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[Solwyn]

Roger shivered as he slammed the laptop shut. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the sudden dark, but when they did he was greeted by a shelf of empty energy drink cans and bottles. He idly wiped his bleary eyes.

"There's fan fiction, and then there's whatever this is. I'm going to go get drunk," he grated. The words were gravel, and he chewed them slowly as he came to his feet. As he stumbled to the fridge, visions of a crisp twelve pack dancing before him, a long screech caught him mid-stride. He slowly turned to the window just in time to see a streak of white-hot light scream across the yard. Before he could react, the house flexed, as if being sheared by impossible gravitational forces. Just in time for him to realize the implication, the rigidity of his floor suddenly asserted itself and he was flung to the ceiling.

He wasn't sure if it was a minute or an hour, but he eventually regained the strength to stand. When he did, he was greeted by a wall of slithering green mist creeping across his kitchen. As he pulled himself to the window, he saw the mist clearing from what used to be his favorite azalea bush. In its spot writhed a shadowy figure. Roger wiped his eyes, then wiped his sweaty hands on his tattered robe.  "What in the...?" he croaked.

He was sure it only took him a few moments, but by the time he got out the back door, baseball bat in hand, the mist had completely cleared. Bathed in the pale yellow of his back porch light was not a writhing figure, but a young man swinging his hands wildly, what appeared to be a whip in each hand. Roger raised his bat, and inched forwards.

"What the hell are you doing?" he shouted to the best his creaky late-night voice would allow.

The young man stopped moving long enough for Roger to see the whips were in fact computer keyboards, the keys slamming down on the ground with a clatter. Behind him stood a monitor, filled with eldritch phrases and glowing with sinister purpose. The keystrokes made no sense, they hovered there expectantly, waiting to be deciphered. His eyes were bloated with what looked like some kind of fever, dark circles beneath them. His hair clung to his head with the weight of sweat, and his mouth twisted into something between a grimace and a sneer. "Let's write something!" he cackled.

[KMD]

Wondrous slipstream efficacy,
outbound elegance, panging deliriousness
Smell of torsion in the air
Momentary disbelief by way of hyperspace noodle
Stripped screws,
Curse words echoing through clandestine hallways.

A big bowl of sloshy brainy things
Flaked crisp lettuce head
PRESSURE
Innovative reconnaissance bicycle
Multifaceted ergonomics gun
Repeating angel heads.
Shift indicator light reactor module
Unfurling looping tape demonstration

[Dessert Ranger]

Now, for the most beautiful poem you may ever hear in your life

*ahem*
Hail Hydra

[The Hanged Man]

Now, for the most beautiful poem you may ever hear in your life

*ahem*
Hail Hydra

Good use of alliteration!