Unwashed Village
General Discussion => Unwashed Village => Topic started by: KMD on November 14, 2014, 05:11:35 PM
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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
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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.
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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'.
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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.
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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.
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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!"
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Something
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(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)
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(was bored so I wanted to write about the War of 1812)
Cool war! (if wars can be cool...)
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[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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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.
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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
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Now, for the most beautiful poem you may ever hear in your life
*ahem*
Hail Hydra
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Now, for the most beautiful poem you may ever hear in your life
*ahem*
Hail Hydra
Good use of alliteration! :P
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As long as I can remember, I've always thought "differently" about things. And not in an Apple kind of way, that people approve of and call "extraordinary", "genius" or any other number of adjectives that part of the California lexicon. My kind of different thinking results in a lot of frustration and disapproval in others. Its one of the toughest things I deal with on a daily basis. In some ways, I'm a daydreamer. I fondly remember sitting in the outfield as a child, sitting in the dirt plucking grass, while the other kids focused on the baseball game. Nowadays, I can admit that baseball is a pretty boring sport for the most part, but I can still enjoy watching a game. In other ways, I'm consistently puzzled. One of my best friends commented that I usually look "confused" but he knows that i'm always internally contemplating. During my life, there were many phrases that people yelled at me repeatedly, that I will probably remember forever. One of these was "Use your head!", as if using your brain is some kind active decision that we make. But its more like a passive unconscious learned habit. Our nervous system reacts actively, but we don't have any real control over what our brains do. When things go well, people often don't feel responsible, and blame it on luck, karma, practice or whatever. Another phrase that will be forever ingrained in my brain is my dad yelling "Dysfunctional!" as his favorite adjective to describe our family. Like we have a certain function to fulfill. My different way of thinking, I generally blamed it on 2 things. The first is me being left-handed. Its something I consider important to me that makes me unique, and somewhat of a loner. From what I understand, people who are left-handed have brains that are literally hardwired backwards (err, inverted?), that is the hemispheres of our brains are used differently than the majority of the population. Theres a lot of fluff online about southpaws being "more creative and pattern oriented" and while I take this with a grain of salt, some days the honesty of my different approach to thinking is too apparent. The world is truly designed for the majority (right handers). The second thing that I blame is my mother. Well, her messy habits mostly. While she's gotten better about it lately, I'll never forget the mountains of papers, clothes, and garbage that littered our house, including her most intimate spaces. I distantly remember one incident maybe 10 years ago, where I realized we didn't really have a space for rags, so I made and labeled a "rag box" in the closet in the hopes that she would utilize this as a place to put rags. But she paid it no mind at all. It really made me feel bad that I created something that went unused. I'm not sure that I can ever forgive her for that, and thats why one of my greatest internal drives is to create something that people will use and love. To this day, I have trouble discerning what is a rag since we don't have a real place for them. She's the most caring person I've ever known and I love her to death, but the ways we think differently make me worried about our future. I think that seeing a constant mess everywhere I live has caused me to see nothing as complete, and want to fix everything, even if there is nothing that should be fixed. Like a triangular peg in a hexagonal hole, I am the non-conformist. My "midwestern sensibilities" make me a pretty moderated person. I don't believe in bending the rules even if you can get away with it, because fulfillment comes from accepting the limitations and their purpose in this human constructed world. I don't believe in doing what is successful for other people, even if you may likely be successful too, because I think norms should constantly be challenged and choosing the easy guaranteed method is lazy. (Thats why women who wear black flips in summer bothers me so much). Thinking differently is tough and is met with a lot of criticism. I don't necessarily agree that there is a right or wrong way to do anything, there is just "a way" and a measurement of the relative success of that way.
If anyone reads through this whole essay, please pick a small quote that you find intriguing and send it to me or post it. It would make me feel very good. I love you all.
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And not in an Apple kind of way, that people approve of and call "extraordinary", "genius" or any other number of adjectives that part of the California lexicon.
Part of the "extraordinariness" of Apple is people confusing "uniqueness" with "pretension". Though, the backlash from the pretense probably is less than the extra business they get from it, so good on them for a successful business strategy.
But still, there are things they do that don't really make logical sense from a "Wouldn't it just be easier if...." standpoint.
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I made and labeled a "rag box" in the closet in the hopes that she would utilize this as a place to put rags. But she paid it no mind at all. It really made me feel bad that I created something that went unused. I'm not sure that I can ever forgive her for that
This one.
Extremely powerful.
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"When things go well, people often don't feel responsible, and blame it on luck, karma, practice or whatever."
I have issues with this, I often find it difficult to recognise my own competencies and influence, I'm getting better but I still feel like an imposter at times.
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Recall
When every word I speak is meaningful
a conglomeration of ideas and actions
these are permanently addressed
into the grey crevices of my brain.
And when electrical impulses
so slyly slither across cerebral canyons
a sudden shock
a memory, disappointing situation
akwardly the words came out
or feeling unconfident
a constant reminder that
no matter how hard
I try to escape it
The past is a part of me
And the words in my head
are mine
I own them
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Effortless Vale
sticks eroniously down creek
hopping between bescreahed stone planes
one hundred safe zones
Missouri has a lot of caves
And to wench does each cave flow
water rushing around
chasms shifting
a loose foot on mossy rock
the rocks do not have mercy for the tender
Concrete is man's rock in form to protect him from god's creek
After eventual many hops, losing wonder of where to go
For standing still, around is but stillness evermore
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Welp all I read was write something so i might as well. I'm new here. I recently found it that this was one of first Fallout communities created and I simply thought that it would be cool to sigh up for. So here I am at almost 3 in the morning watching Fallout 4 gameplay and typing on a website dedicated to it. Life is currently ok.
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Welp all I read was write something so i might as well. I'm new here. I recently found it that this was one of first Fallout communities created and I simply thought that it would be cool to sigh up for. So here I am at almost 3 in the morning watching Fallout 4 gameplay and typing on a website dedicated to it. Life is currently ok.
::pelts with tangerines::
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Welp all I read was write something so i might as well. I'm new here. I recently found it that this was one of first Fallout communities created and I simply thought that it would be cool to sigh up for. So here I am at almost 3 in the morning watching Fallout 4 gameplay and typing on a website dedicated to it. Life is currently ok.
/makes you put on the cow suit and hands sticks to the other villagers
/proceeds to poke you and pelt you with tangerines!
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Since when were tangerines an effective weapon? Maybe if you put 8 Super Stimpaks on it it'll do some actual harm!
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Whenever I try to throw a tangerine, it keeps on burning my hand. What am I doing wrong ;_;
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Looking at your quotes i'm guessing you sided with Caesars Legion? Too bad I sided with the NCR. Don't tread on the bear!
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Shhhh! Don't let the tangerines hear you question thier effectiveness! *pokes you with a stick*
Go! Run!
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Can I take my typewriter with me? Or can I only take the clothes on my back to escape?
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This is totally random but I would love to see a mod where you change the mini-gun in Fallout 4 with a typewriter and you could just destroy civilization with with the power of words and bullets!
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You guys want to hear kind of a funny story?
so, like most men with strong lifelong father figures I assume, I found a lot of inspiration in my father. There are certainly some things that I absolutely despise about the guy, but I know that parts of his character are permanently bound within my soul, and absolutely make me who I am. I always say that I take my best attributes from my mother, and worst attributes from my father.
Anyway, the story goes that my parents were struggling with their marriage about 10 years ago (and they continued too, but no one said marriage was easy!) so they went to a marriage counselor. I don't know all what was said at the meeting, but at some point the counselor (a woman) told my mother directly, with my father still in the room I presume, that this marriage would never work out and she should divorce him immediately. Just point blank right out loud. My father, being the hothead he is, angrily called her out on that; The counselor was divorced. So he exclaimed something to the extent of "What fucking right do you have to tell us how to run our marriage, when you can't even stay married yourself!?".
10 years later and they are still together in their original marriage, one of the few older couples I know that I can say that about. Growing up with parents who were married and divorced several times each, I guess its something he made a life-goal to avoid. Had he been a less-stubborn more thoughtful person, he may have accepted that professional's advice. But his results-oriented attitude, even to ideas that correlate to a life of misery, is something that still gives me a chuckle sometimes.
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Whenever I try to throw a tangerine, it keeps on burning my hand. What am I doing wrong ;_;
You do know the difference between a tangerine and a habanero, don't you?
*looks at Desert Ranger's hand*
No, maybe not...
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Whenever I try to throw a tangerine, it keeps on burning my hand. What am I doing wrong ;_;
You do know the difference between a tangerine and a habanero, don't you?
*looks at Desert Ranger's hand*
No, maybe not...
*straightens tie and with a straight face*
Mistakes were made
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2161
Raider 1: Hey... Hey bro! You see that guy, in the T-51B power armour? Let's get him!
Raider 2: Woah, hold up Bruv. He's in POWER ARMOUR! Maybe we should just let this one pass! I mean, he ignored us the last time he encountered us.
Raider 1: Nah, it's okay, I got this!
2230
Raider 1: Hey, you see them, there?
Raider 2: That group with the guy in MK II Power armour, the Super Mutant with a gattling gun strapped to his arm, an old guy with steel plates in his head, a robot, a robot dog and a deathclaw?
...
What about them?
Raider 1: Let's get 'em!
Raider 2: Are you kidding me!? Look at them! There's... Five of them and every single one of them could rip us in two! Just let them pass, for christ's sake!
Raider: Nah, it's okay, I got this!
2277
Raider 1: Hey... Blad, check that guy out!
Raider 2: You mean that guy in Black Devil Power Armour, carrying a miniature nuclear missile launcher on his shoulder, like it's nothing?
Raider 1: Yeah, let's get him!
Raider 2: No way! Look at him! He's better armoured and better armed than we are!
Raider 1: Chillaxe bro, I've got this!
2287
Raider 1: Hey, you see that settlement?
Raider 2: You mean the one with ten ft high walls all around it, automated turrets all around it, two armed guards and at least six deathclaws stomping around the place? THAT settlement!?
Raider 1: Yeah, let's take it, you and me!
Raider 2: ...
Raider 1: 1... 2...
Raider 2: ARE YOU BLOODY KIDDING ME!? It makes Fort Knox look like Chucky Cheese!
Raider 1: Oh, c'mon... Stop being such a pussy! We'll have this place within the hour!
Stupidity...
Stupidity never changes...
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Raider 1: That's the thing! Turns out they weren't grenades at all! They were just rocks! He was making the sounds with his mouth. Pins being pulled, the whole nine yards!
Raider 2: That's fuckin nuts! Did you guys take him out?
Raider 1: No we just stood there. Couldn't believe what we were seeing. After he threw about half a dozen rocks near the back of the store he started making machine gun noises and backing toward the door. Once he got outside it sounded like he pretended to get on a motorcycle. Which, of course, didn't "start" right away. Then he took of toward the freeway at what sounded like full throttle. "Shifting" gears and everything.
Raider 2: That's insane! How does someone like that survive out here at all?
Raider 1: I don't know. There are some lunatics out there though.
(Taken from FO4, but too good of a story to not share.)
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Its amazing to me how, despite the internet making communication quicker and easier, many adult jobs still require people to go through so many formalities and hoops to simply apply for a position. Most of the time, they make you sign up on their website (Another fucking set of usernames and passwords to keep track of, I can't wait until everything is biometric) and go through a dozen pages of inputs, often giving personal information like your address and SSN to a company you barely know. This usually takes close to an hour, if you have to write a cover letter or resume, then its even longer.
Like, I get it it that a large beaurocratic company needs a system of tracking applicants, but it feels like such a holdover from the 80's where things were a lot less competitive and if you met the minimum qualifications you could be considered. Maybe thats not really how things were, but its hard to argue that we don't live in a more competitive world today. Young people today are used to switching jobs every few years, used to wearing hats not part of our job description, and used to no job being secure long term. We can't spend an hour applying for jobs these days, because we know that securing a job is a numbers game, and truthfully there are 200 applicants for 4 open positions.
If jobs were quicker and easier to apply for, I think a lot more people would being doing jobs they enjoy and would be productive at. Somewhat shamefully, I've gotten most of my jobs from craigslist, including my current one which I've been at for 2 years (keep in mind though, that I had to email them 4 times before hearing back) While most jobs on CL are unpaid and often shitty, the site is pretty great for finding jobs fast and easily. I enjoy searching on CL more than other job sites because its easy to see: 1. Who you can email directly, or who you have to go through their external website 2. How far away they are 3. Based on the Ad, how professional they are 4. What your expected job duties will be. 5. How immediately they want to position filled.
Not so easy to see are how likely they are to rip you off and what they pay (Protip: its usually low for anything non technical) but I wish everything were this easy. I wish that companies stopped treating applicants like employees, and expecting us to do so much grunt admin work when they haven't show any interest in us at all. For professional jobs I could understand, but most entry level jobs do this and its frustrating, part of the reason people have trouble getting those jobs.
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Did you mean to post that in this thread?
My biggest issue is with HR departments that don't actually understand what the job entails so they write terrible job specs and the managers reviewing the CV's get a whole load of applicants that don't actually meet their criteria. The thing that compounds this is clueless recruitment consultants, I get this one on two sides; consultants email me with clients who don't fit job roles I would have a hand in filling and they also still email me personally with offers that seem like they've kind of skimmed my CV and matched some of the words to the job specs.
It's pretty rare for the people in large organisations who would actually be managing an individual to manage the advertising and direct communication with agencies.
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Yeah I did, but it was more of a rant so I didn't want to make a new thread . Truthfully, the problem is me, I should learn to be more professional.
Heres something I guess.
Something
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Slow rain trickle
depth trope of blinds fandish 100 frames per second
back against the wall, crawling horizontally
which way is gravity?
I dreampt
Landlocked
Intensity overwhelming
Eventually you reach a peak
Then a plateau
To be a southpaw INTJ
is there no other hell on earth?
The noises do not judge
Hands Up!
Take me away
to heaven
Dots rearranging themselves
to minds desire