It just occurred to me that maybe I should do more on this site than watch videos and lurk threads.
Who? Who is but the form following the function of what, and what I am, is a man in a mask.
...I can see that.
Of course you can. I'm not questioning your powers of observation, I'm merely remarking upon the paradox of asking a masked man, who he is.
But on this most auspicious of nights, permit me then, in lieu of the more commonplace soubriquet, to suggest the character of this dramatis persona.
Voila! In view humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of fate.
This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the Ã¢â‚¬Å“vox populiÃ¢â‚¬Â now vacant, vanished.
However, this valorous visitation of a bygone vexation stands vivified,
and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin, van guarding vice
and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition.
The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive not in vain,
for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous.
Verily this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose,
So let me simply add that itÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s my very good honour to meet you..
And you may call me V.
12 years agogone_astray
Alright, so I was really bored one day, and I worte up this fucked up version of Jack and Jill. It's not the best of my writing, with many errors, bad plot pacing, just really choppy and jumpy everywhere. But it's a rough draft, and gets the point across, really. The story is continued in the first comment.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Is there anything you need grandma?Ã¢â‚¬Â whispered a young man with green eyes and brown hair.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“No! No, no no, no, nothing! Not in a material sense, anyway, hehe, I want you to fetchÃ¢â‚¬Â¦ Me a pail of water! IÃ¢â‚¬Â¦ Bring the rest of the village, to my deathbed, while I sing a merry poem! A story of lifeÃ¢â‚¬Â¦ A story of deathÃ¢â‚¬Â¦ I want them all to knowÃ¢â‚¬Â¦Ã¢â‚¬Â came the reply, delirious, yet graced with a wisdom the boy could not help but obey.
Standing slowly from his grandmaÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s deathbed, he gazed around the drab, musty room. Though clean, it seeped with a sense of filth, but not a cobweb or speck of dust could be viewed in the room. Though large, the room felt as though the walls were inching on him every time he turned his back, ready to devour him as if in the stomach of a beast. Though nearly empty, his grandmaÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s deathbed found quite the profound presence in the room, seeming to be the masterpiece of a grotesque museum.
Whoever thought of building this bed, he thought, knew exactly what senile granny wanted. The dusty, brown-red color of the sheets entangled about her slim, bony body, as though stained with old blood. The semi-transparent cloth surrounding the bed gave an aura of power to her, a sense of importance. But what troubled him most, was the color of the rest of the bed. Black, pitch black. Not a spot of sunlight shone, not a sparkle of brightness. As if inviting death to take her life any moment, mused the boy, and with one last look, departed to gather the residents of the village.
A few moments later, as the villagers arrived, the boy quieted their rambunctious nature, wishing to hear this story of the deathbed. And when all had quieted down, the old woman spoke.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“This tale, most of you have heard in your childhood, not knowing what it meant, what really happened. Know the truth of the story, and pass it down to your children, them down to theirs. Do not let this story die with you.Ã¢â‚¬Â
The villagers nodded solemnly, swearing an oath to pass it on, though wry grins appeared on manyÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s faces, and a few eyes rolled towards the ceiling. She continued without noticing, or caring, capturing each and every mind, and trapping it into the world that used to be hers alone to explore.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Get back Ã¢â‚¬Ëœere ya piece of cow dung!Ã¢â‚¬Â roared a tall, burly man, so hairy and unclean that Jack was sure he was his fatherÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s twin.
Regardless of the man shouting and chasing after them, Jack dashed through the streets, quickly blending in with the crowd. He glanced around to make sure his pursuer had left, and walked home, a wide grin on his face at the prize he had captured. His mischievous green eyes darted around, checking for any sign of his father. Satisfied, he walked into the damp, small hut, eager to share his spoils with his sister and mother.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“What do you have in your hands?Ã¢â‚¬Â asked his sister, Jill.
Jack didnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t respond, instead tearing into the warm cinnamon bread, breaking it into three parts for the three of them. Jill squealed in delight, and took a ravenous bite. His mother however, squinted suspiciously at the bread.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Why arenÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t you eating mother?Ã¢â‚¬Â asked Jack, who had stuffed half his piece into his mouth, lining his rough, broad face and his wavy brown hair with crumbs.
She shook her head, sending the long, luminous strands of orange hair cascading about her slender body.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Nothing much. ItÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s stolen again, isnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t it?Ã¢â‚¬Â she asked.
Jack sighed. It usually came to this, but in the end, his mother always ate anyway.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“You taught me not to lie mother, so IÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ll say yes, I did. Father never buys food for us, how else can we get it?Ã¢â‚¬Â he probed.
His mother nodded slowly, and took a dainty bite of the bread. Her sparkling green eyes opened wider, and she consumed the rest of the piece quickly, licking her fingers of the crumbs. Jack smiled slightly, watching his family eat. His sister and mother looked so much alike, bearing no resemblance to his father. They both had flowing, long orange hair, sparkling green eyes, heart shaped faces, and a slender body. With a wry grin, Jack saw the main difference between them; the one he had thought made them go so well smiling next to each other. JillÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s face always wore a mischievous grin, while his mother had a kind smile.
A tremendous pounding on the door ruptured his thinking and jack flinched in fear. His motherÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s face turned pale, and a tear ran down her cheek Jill bit her lip nervously, trembling as she rose slowly to her barren, uncovered feet, and hesitantly opened the door. Jack winced as he saw her pull open the door, and was instantly greeted by a backhand to her face, sending her to the ground in a sprawled heap.
Jack clenched his fist as he watched his father enter. A ragged, dirty, unshaven man, looking nothing akin to the fair features of his son and daughter, Jack and Jill. Nevertheless, being tremendously tall and broad shouldered, he made an intimidating presence in the room. In one hand, he clutched a large bottle of alcohol, in the other, an empty bag of coins.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“What took you so long to open the door, wench?!Ã¢â‚¬Â he snarled, Ã¢â‚¬Å“WhereÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s that that whore of a mother you have?Ã¢â‚¬Â
Jack edged slightly to the side, attempting to conceal his mother. He hear her shift slightly behind him, no doubt cringing in fear of his father. The burly man turned to Jack, and upon seeing the pair of feet behind him, swung the bottle at JackÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s head, shattering glass everywhere. Jack fell to the ground, clutching at his head in pain.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“There you are, my little slut,Ã¢â‚¬Â his father said, licking his lips.
With a scream, JackÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s mother jumped to her feet, and attempted to run, to no avail.
12 years agogone_astray
A precious gift we don't acknowledge in our daily lives. My grandpa is dying of cancer, so I wrote this poem for him. Here, it's posted to show you to appreciate life.
My grandpa's dying of cancer, so I wrote this poem for him... I thought I'd share it with all of you to show you what life really means.
On wings unseen;
We carry our gift of Life.
Given by being supreme?
Given by coincidence?
Will we ever find out?
Are questions that hold no meaning.
Life we have carried in our beating hearts,
In our touch;
In our dreams.
It is a thing we take for granted;
An item we hold in disregard.
Threatens to snatch it away.
We learn to appreciate Life;
As we go further, further;
Further, from it.
But Life is fragile;
Can be cruel.
Do men of kindness;
Why does Chance choose them?
For the gift of Life;
Stay with us.
No questions have been answered yet