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The Cardboard Box
Philosophy
 Created on 3-5-08
 Views(148)
 Story Rating G
|
I sat around fantasizing about a couple female friends writing erotica. Expressing what I'd love to do with 'em if we were ever in a room on a Queen-sized
mattress with emotional, soft, sensual music (The Doors) playing in the background with lit candles that cast an orangey-red glow..
Listening to Alice Cooper's "Eighteen", I began to wonder what I was doing. Why had I been busy writing erotica when..I'm just another male droolin' over their breasts and figure. Now I sat at the computer listening to the song, thinking to myself about what I was doing. I'm a writer, see, a natural wordsman with the gifted talent of painting imagery for the widest mind to see. And that wasn't enough for the world nor myself in this job-feeding, corporate money-burning existence we now call life. Passion, burnin'-fire, eccentric views of mystery, thought-opening words didn't seem to be enough to fuel my lust for life, lust for adventure, deadly sin of getting about as much out of life as you can get in the short time we have here on this dieing Earth.
It's all in the now, now, now, with one step for the future. All's made to have the best, the most successful, the most money-efficent and financial rewarding of the greatest jobs, workplaces, community services, the best for the individual can possibly be offered with his or hers abilities at whatever and however they decide to apply for the calling. AIN'T HAVE NO TIME TA BE WORRIED 'BOUT EVERY PAST YE CANNOT CHANGE, NOW!
Naturally I began to wonder about my talents as a writer and what my amateur friends regarded by the highly praised original creative artist I am - compared to the editors and professional writers of the world would regard as horseshit or too outta there for clarity, while the entire universe needs a smack upside the head with originality which I provide daily, or so I's lead to believe. Being a lonely Libra, it's in my natural blood to crave companionship, daydream about relationships and the ever-goin' lust for the soul-mate so to love as long as our souls are forever entwined and with each passin' day I'd either make the choice to accept that I ain't havin' such a lucky chance and move on or dwell on it, obsessing over it to the point where it controls my fears, phobias, personality and attitude towards this holy depressin' life.
I'd gone with the former and been smilin' my way ever since, throwin' all and nearly any wild offbeat chicks out've the road with a simple, "Yeah, I want you" for about a day 'cause I'da known
there's no chance in Heaven we were one, infinite, soul and heart connected so why not have abit've fun while we're at it?
"Maybe you're a player" everybody said.
It suddenly dawned on me.
I'm a flirtatious Libra.
I'm a flirtatious Libra.
I'm a flirtatious Libra and not havin' a flirtatious Aquarius (as in Astrology these two Zodiac signs are the most compatible for each other)
makes it an interesting obstacle to overcome not havin' the hand of the soft, romantic lover I so naturally desire by my bedside manner. When that's not found or recognized by the ones I've given half-of-my-lonesome-heart-to or the one or two females I've decided to write about isn't recognized or appreciated, the cold air seeps through my expression and so began a few sullen hours ponderin' the contemplative life that is.
The contemplative life that is.
The contemplative life that is one persons opinion dampens the toilet roll with only a few droplets, while several groups of drippings break through the fragile fabric that is the contemplative balance-seeking Libra that is I the October Fourth an' baby of the family. Baby of the family of three.
Of three is what this October Fourth balance-seeking Libra seems to mean at all to any and one person of all that ever saw what I chose to show so that one day, somewhere out there in a far away place, one of 'em that I hold in high regards may one day see what I've shown, and ask for a rare chance to peer more into the October Fourth balance-seeking baby of the family of three and foolishly, selfishly, almost egotistically drown with admiration from the soul that is the Aquarius that I'm intent on discoverin' and handing my gentle, soft heart to in praise and appreciation for the Aquarius that is the soul mate I so yearningly desire with every ounce of tear, every shrout of love, happiness, and self that is this existence seen.
Desire is always behind the reason, behind the cold reason at the back of the line ahead of the many sheets I sleep in, behind the many stale-colored clothes I wear so proudly, behind the thinly-cut green grass of joy and the blue skies of gloom, behind the red fury of energy consuming the balanced Scales of the Minute Snake countin' the final hours. Has life been lived when I'm readin' Kerouac and wonderin' what he went through an' how he went through life an unrecognized genius of his so-inspirational times of the centuries.
'Hope that is someday I' lingers the backs of my mind in the cold, silver truth of it all - the shivering silver that I so detest in favour of the warm butterflies of spring, shimmering on the golden flowers in bloom. Like the old spirits now exhaled from life as our children of now look back on the past in wonder, awe, amazement and cherish the idols who have so built the paveways of mankinds and whomever and however we choose to live in this mysterious road we call our blue four-walled Cardboard Box.
mattress with emotional, soft, sensual music (The Doors) playing in the background with lit candles that cast an orangey-red glow..
Listening to Alice Cooper's "Eighteen", I began to wonder what I was doing. Why had I been busy writing erotica when..I'm just another male droolin' over their breasts and figure. Now I sat at the computer listening to the song, thinking to myself about what I was doing. I'm a writer, see, a natural wordsman with the gifted talent of painting imagery for the widest mind to see. And that wasn't enough for the world nor myself in this job-feeding, corporate money-burning existence we now call life. Passion, burnin'-fire, eccentric views of mystery, thought-opening words didn't seem to be enough to fuel my lust for life, lust for adventure, deadly sin of getting about as much out of life as you can get in the short time we have here on this dieing Earth.
It's all in the now, now, now, with one step for the future. All's made to have the best, the most successful, the most money-efficent and financial rewarding of the greatest jobs, workplaces, community services, the best for the individual can possibly be offered with his or hers abilities at whatever and however they decide to apply for the calling. AIN'T HAVE NO TIME TA BE WORRIED 'BOUT EVERY PAST YE CANNOT CHANGE, NOW!
Naturally I began to wonder about my talents as a writer and what my amateur friends regarded by the highly praised original creative artist I am - compared to the editors and professional writers of the world would regard as horseshit or too outta there for clarity, while the entire universe needs a smack upside the head with originality which I provide daily, or so I's lead to believe. Being a lonely Libra, it's in my natural blood to crave companionship, daydream about relationships and the ever-goin' lust for the soul-mate so to love as long as our souls are forever entwined and with each passin' day I'd either make the choice to accept that I ain't havin' such a lucky chance and move on or dwell on it, obsessing over it to the point where it controls my fears, phobias, personality and attitude towards this holy depressin' life.
I'd gone with the former and been smilin' my way ever since, throwin' all and nearly any wild offbeat chicks out've the road with a simple, "Yeah, I want you" for about a day 'cause I'da known
there's no chance in Heaven we were one, infinite, soul and heart connected so why not have abit've fun while we're at it?
"Maybe you're a player" everybody said.
It suddenly dawned on me.
I'm a flirtatious Libra.
I'm a flirtatious Libra.
I'm a flirtatious Libra and not havin' a flirtatious Aquarius (as in Astrology these two Zodiac signs are the most compatible for each other)
makes it an interesting obstacle to overcome not havin' the hand of the soft, romantic lover I so naturally desire by my bedside manner. When that's not found or recognized by the ones I've given half-of-my-lonesome-heart-to or the one or two females I've decided to write about isn't recognized or appreciated, the cold air seeps through my expression and so began a few sullen hours ponderin' the contemplative life that is.
The contemplative life that is.
The contemplative life that is one persons opinion dampens the toilet roll with only a few droplets, while several groups of drippings break through the fragile fabric that is the contemplative balance-seeking Libra that is I the October Fourth an' baby of the family. Baby of the family of three.
Of three is what this October Fourth balance-seeking Libra seems to mean at all to any and one person of all that ever saw what I chose to show so that one day, somewhere out there in a far away place, one of 'em that I hold in high regards may one day see what I've shown, and ask for a rare chance to peer more into the October Fourth balance-seeking baby of the family of three and foolishly, selfishly, almost egotistically drown with admiration from the soul that is the Aquarius that I'm intent on discoverin' and handing my gentle, soft heart to in praise and appreciation for the Aquarius that is the soul mate I so yearningly desire with every ounce of tear, every shrout of love, happiness, and self that is this existence seen.
Desire is always behind the reason, behind the cold reason at the back of the line ahead of the many sheets I sleep in, behind the many stale-colored clothes I wear so proudly, behind the thinly-cut green grass of joy and the blue skies of gloom, behind the red fury of energy consuming the balanced Scales of the Minute Snake countin' the final hours. Has life been lived when I'm readin' Kerouac and wonderin' what he went through an' how he went through life an unrecognized genius of his so-inspirational times of the centuries.
'Hope that is someday I' lingers the backs of my mind in the cold, silver truth of it all - the shivering silver that I so detest in favour of the warm butterflies of spring, shimmering on the golden flowers in bloom. Like the old spirits now exhaled from life as our children of now look back on the past in wonder, awe, amazement and cherish the idols who have so built the paveways of mankinds and whomever and however we choose to live in this mysterious road we call our blue four-walled Cardboard Box.
Comments
Please Login to post comments| On June 14th 2008 SophieLynn00 Said : | |
|
fucking love this and your numbz, I've been reading more. like you told me. |
| On March 6th 2008 ralicia Said : | |
|
This Aquarian holds your thoughts in highest regard. I hope that one day you become one of those great writers who leave their mark for the next generation. We need people like you. |
| On March 5th 2008 hiphuney420 Said : | |
|
omg i was completely in a trance by this. you really have alot of talent. i wish one day i might be as good as you :) i loved this |
