could you tell
every blood seeping day is a wirlwind of the same ongoing events week after week. I guess you could say the die down from tragic demise and reluctant theatricals has made everything in the aftermath like cricket at the end of an alley.
Could you tell?
alarm after alarm after alarm, reliving the same day like im on happy death day. Seeing the same people, retriving same activies day in and day out. But a smile is whiped on my face. Walking around with a pound of conserved misery and staggering concepts seeping out at every creak to the seal. But remains a smile thoughout day in and out.
But can you tell?
Can you tell is the same smile that had smiled through countless events churning reality in which had been shape shifting from terror to terror. the warping of emotions from utter hatred to mushy counterfitted feelings, back to regret and grief; then every feeling placed into a wash and randomzied like drawing popsicle sticks in kindergrden.
how can you tell?
Every tourmenting occurance is just a repeat on a past event, every mind ingulfing episode in which my head is tormented by the words around me scrapted into hateful idioms. How can one see that on ones face, who would want to?
but can you ever tell?
And Those Redeemable 10 Cent Bottles!
Brownies do exist, but they are full of sugar and not only make you fat but you can feel your teeth rot when you bite into one. Pookie-Bear would never allow all that sugar (as I could have a heart attack). No, I must maintain a maximum weight of one hundred twenty-five pounds at 5’11 in order to live forever. It is the only way. Therefore… no brownies for me, just plenty of Brussels sprouts.
Or, if it is canniballistic tendencies you have and it is the Brownie Organization you are talking about (the grammar in your challenge is insufficient for me to qualify what kind of brownie you mean), then you are a very sick person and should seek immediate help!
When I was a kid, there was a chocolate drink called a “Brownie”. They were similar to a “Yoohoo”. You could only get one from one of those machines where you opened a narrow, vertical glass door on the left hand side of the vending machine. Your options once opened would consist of 3 rows of Cokes (in the old style glass bottles), 2 rows of RC’s, a row of Fresca, and the Brownie’s were always at the very bottom, where little hands could easily reach them. Sugar-free and diet sodas were not even invented yet back in those days.
Yea, I wish I was drinking a Brownie right now… not eating one. Because if I was drinking a Brownie right now it would be 1972. “The Day the Music Died” would be on the radio. My parents would still be married, and Brooks Robinson, Louis L’Amour and Hee-Haw would still be relevant… good things all, in my book.
My Grannies would still be alive if I was drinking that Brownie in 1972, and Damned ’Ole Bear, my first dog (for some unknown reason my dad added the “Damned ‘Ole,” but it stuck). The neighbors always got a kick out of that toe-head, seven year old walking down the street demanding of them, “Y’all seen my Damned ’Ole Bear?”
Yea, I wish I was drinking a Brownie right now. That would be nice. Very nice.
I can almost taste one now.
On the absence of brownies.
brownies could exist, if the sensory experience of them is not illusory or false. the smell of the chocolate, the steam rising from the moist pores, and of course the taste exist as long as any other sensation, or a memory of a sensation is real.
but if this is so, how could it be that brownies are not at this very moment sitting upon my desk, briefly awaiting my indulgence. it is certain, that if they existed and if they were sitting upon my desk, they would soon be devoured. certainly i have many fond recollections of eating a brownie. yet it is not present either in my mouth, or upon a saucer in front of me.
i could argue, the the existence of a brownie, specifically upon my desk, is contingent on either the acquisition of the ingredients and the preparation of them OR they are to be bought in a bakery, who's staff is accomplished in the fine art of confection-making at large and brownie preparation in particular. if we follow the argument, the absence of the brownie is a direct result of my inability to aquire or prepare such a confection. this possibility is unlikely. bakeries, staffed with talented, duty-bound artists are plentiful and so is the relative abundance of the ingredients. to learn how to make a brownie, one need only search the internet or follow a path of trial and error, to produce such a cake. it is therefore not scarcity the witholds the sweet delight of brownies from my grasp.
could it be, then a question of self-denial or restraint? am i sufficiently adept at delaying my gratification or prioritising or managing my desires and sordid impulses? would i be able to actually hold my motivation to such a degree that brownies could be safely placed in my proximity, without calamitous results? this if course is not a possibility in the least. it is safe to say, that whatever the size of a serving of brownies, be it insurmountablly huge or unreasonably small, all will be devoured. my bloated thorax shall explode, and yet the head shall still relentlessly gorge itslef. indeed one coukd say that the biological expedincy of brownies is no match to the outright mortal threat they pose. not dietery concerns, social repercussions nor pecuniary limits would conceivably serve as sufficient hindrence to overconsumption.
we could follow Occam's razor, down its sharp point, and come to the simple answer that a man coukd be in one of to existential states: in the process of in eating a brownie OR having finished the brownie and awaiting more , though the anticipation may be a discomfort. if i am not eating a brownie momentarily it is a result of the fact that i have depleted all of it.
either of these latter possibilities depend on the surity that brownies exist. if brownies existed all arguments would be about self control, the absence of it, or the material considerations that may lead to the consumption of brownies or to their absence.
however the possibility that brownies exist is not apriori establishable. their perseption through senses, their measurement through emperical devices, could all be a solipsistic trap. indeed their absence is all but assured, when one considers their being on a cosmological scale or a subatomic one. the possible interaction between objects such as the brownie and the eater, or between the fats, sugars, and proteins it cobtains is distinguished only within a very limited scope, which in itself (being the organisns that try to appreciate brownies) is arguably non-existant. the question in that case would not be "why am i not eating a brownie?" but rather "am i a distinguishable enough object from the background, to exist?" or "what is barrier between me and not-me?" OR "could it be that i am a brownie?" none of these questions are answerable. no solution given is absolute. and the fears of reality which they stirr is irreconcilable in the long run.
here, finally, within this existential limitation and distress, a need arises for confort. for a reduction in pain, for a balm to salve the aching heart. if brownies existed, they surely would have been employed in great quantities and bottomless despair.
and yet, there is no brownie.
The Gathering of the Descendu
Harun, is what they decided to call their little one. His golden eyes were ones that his parents were in awe of. Some folks had been saying the colour of his eyes meant it was going to be an era of good fortune for the kingdom. They marveled at their precious heir- the next in line for the throne. Every being from many varying realms had gathered to honour the birth of the young ruler, and to witness the wonders of gifts he would be granted from the magie. All the sorcerers of the kingdom smiled, as they created a space for everyone to be calm. While some focused on focusing their energy on protecting the rulers with a shield, others concentrated on reading the deep, inner thoughts of several of the guests who showed up dressed in dark soot like cloaks. Had they been cleaning the chimneys of the metalsmiths? Or had they just been too busy to realize that it was the day everybody had been informed of- surely they needed to do better and at least show up to the castle in less distressing habit.
As the crowds continued to step into the grand hall, the gong was rang, alerting folks gawking at each other to stop with the not so quiet murmurs of how some people showed up in rather unroyal garb. Eyes of guests quickly gazed upon the sight of the baby prince being raised mid air. The child was in the arms of the royal family's top elite sage. His voice echoed through all corners of the circular space. from the highest point where he stood, even as his eyes were directed on the book passed from sages before him... he was still able to perceive what was going on around him.
The second that he completed the reading of the passing down of the promise of gifts from the ancestors- and sages past- the whole dome space of the palace started to shift as if the ground was about to rip wide open. Harun lay peacefully asleep in the elite's arms. The sage sighed, and shook his head. He had a twinkling not too long ago as the stars shined forth across the night sky revealing what he needed to do, as well as prepare to face head on and now he had to not waver. The fate of the kingdom was- not only in his hands- but also currently under his protection.
Spurts of lava shot out from the crevices on the porcelain floor. Beasts burst out from the cracks, with lava oozing off their skin. To them the hunger they felt was much worse than the heat the lava gave off.
Folks were trying to rush out of the main hall, and pass through the palace's front doorway. As soon as they tried to escape, they heard flapping of wings, and they were swooped right off the ground....dragged into the air, and flipped around until they landed right into one of the beast's jaws.
The sage frowned. Here at a place where many other magies stood almost in every point of the palace, the creatures that he had banished at the battle of Og. These beasts never knew when to stay down.
Chaos continued around the hall. The other sorcerers seemed to be missing in action. The sage held onto Harun and winked. "Don't worry. We got this. It's time we show these things who's boss!"
The sage snapped his fingers, and the porcelain tiles rattled around forming an army of figures that had a similar form that the elite had. When he waved his hands, the tiles took off like a swarm of bees ready to sting. They moved at such a top speed that the creatures failed to match.
They cried out when hit by the force from the sage. He used the tiles to direct the beasts back into the cracks that lava still burst out of.
Harun chuckled. His laugh burst forth getting louder and stronger. The waves of his laugh created a chain reaction. Each section that had a crack was now closed, and the palace was not full of any beasts anymore.
Later after the mayhem, the sage handed Harun back to his parents.
They had been whisked away to a safe location by the warrin knights.
Both the King, and Queen had been worried about their baby. The sage grinned. "Don't worry. We had each other's back."
The sage bowed... and with a snap of his fingers vanished, with a twinkle in his eyes.
#TheGatheringoftheDescendu. (c)
Lundi 09.26.2022 Mo(o)nday
All the Money in the World
If Anya got all the money she wouldn't keep it for herself,that would be selfish. Anya would instead keep some to herself as she is struggling to pay bills and then the rest she wouldn't need, she would give it to need and put in the money for a fundraiser,give companies money so they can be paid and give everyone in the town 20 dollars as a start. She would try to make the world a better place,no problems with money and school has actually good things. Anya would make the world a better place and build up fundraisers for homeless people..
Anya would give to the people and need and not take it in for just herself she's not gonna pass the chance to give to people for once as she was struggling to. She got a home for her parents to get back up on their feet. She would also get better security for schools and get more cops to work at prison with a high rate at $20/h because prisoners get out all the time. That is what Anya would do with all of the money in the world which could be millions or even a few billions.
Doors Unlocked
Four walls. Three windows. Two rooms. One door. I walk past this house everyday. It's always dim, always empty, always cold. You would think no one ever lived there at all. This building is something I would never want now, but something I used to love. I used to laugh, sing, and dance in this house. I hugged, loved, and watched my favorite person in the world die in this house.
Before Mary died, she had asked that I keep it so her spirit could live on. She had saved up enough to pay the mortgage off on this house, and 100 others, but without her it was only a house where as Mary was my home. Everything you could ever need, she was. She was my light, my music, my walls, my windows. She opened every door I had closed, and made every part of me feel safe and secured. Because of her, I left the doors unlocked.
I sold the house immediately after she died. I could still smell her in every room, and I could still taste her with every breath, and I needed to get away from that reminder. I could have anything I want in life with the money she left me, but all I want is her. Her spirit lives through me, not the house. I wander the streets at night, protected by her presence. I feel as if finding security in any place that's not with her is a betrayal, so I promised to never live in a house again.
One day as I walk past the house and I noticed a fresh coat of paint, new locks, and new blinds. I can no longer peer into the empty house that was once full of smiles and memories of Mary. This hurts to see, but a young couple leave the house, door unlocked, and I can tell it is now a home again. I know Mary would be happy at this sight…Four walls. Three rooms. Two hearts. One door.
No more Green
The world turns grayer with every passing moment. The lush green grass has muted but only for me. The sky is barely blue, like a stormy day. I know I shouldn’t worry about those things. If anything gets damaged, I could just pay upfront. It wouldn’t even matter if they ran with the money. Why am I working again? I mean at this point I should just stay in bed. I use to want to have enough money just to stop working. Now that I have it I can’t help but be dragging my feet. A month has passed since I last spoke to any of my friends. The days lose their color like I lost that ambition. I feel that it used to be yellow but now it’s off-white. Even the most vivid of colors have been sucked into the gray spectrum. I shouldn’t just sit here and ramble to myself, but there’s nothing to do. I mean I could walk down to the ocean or go out on my boat. That would just ruin the memories of deep blues, and brilliant sunsets. I think I’m going to lie down. Yeah, that sounds nice, just close my eyes and live in my memories. I hope they don’t lose their greens and reds. If they do, I don’t know what I’ll do.
Unpopular Opinions
Honestly?
Yes.
While I love watching the real dynamic duo here, honestly speaking there's no value to keeping one psycho alive at the cost of thousands of innocent Gothamites.
He's obviously not curable (and I'm an HQ fan, but still) and he's obviously not above killing others indescriminately himself.
If I have to put it bluntly, I switched from reading Batman to reading Red Hood a long time ago; partly because unlike Batman, Red Hood (the former second boy wonder who Joker literally KILLED) understood the idea that not everyone is redeemable, and that sometimes it's more honorable just to kill the bad guys than continue to allow your mercy to be someone else's repeated trauma.
.............
Now, this is running under the assumption we're talking about the new, dark, gritty Joker & Batman and not the original slapstick 60's ones. If we were going back in time on that then absolutely not, there's no excuse for taking Caesar Romero out, he's legendary.
