I've been gone for like, four years? Probably about four years. Ask me anything
gave me all these gosh darn materials
I decided I'd drop back in for a sec; how has everyone been
college .
Lately I've been developing a new art style, and I need assistance on incorporating stock photos and renders as I have no idea what I am doing. Seeing as some of the members on here seem to be really good at this, any advice on balancing colors or getting pictures to blend in would be greatly appreciated.
How are you asshats doing lately c:
One of my friends at school today brought the site up So I felt like I should check in and see how everybody's doing So how is everybody doing
Also I accidentally Marble Hornets http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PoGcdNuYN0A
This idea is still in the idea stage I have no money ;c
http://fav.me/d35lpmp If you can't click the link please feel free to read Part I (sans indentations for some reason) below I have also added Part II now, before I post it on dA even : D Hopefully the indentations will be a bit more here this time around EDIT: They weren't Spoiler The philosophy that all extreme opposites present themselves equally to nullify each other is one that is usually met relatively well. Many people today apply this to many things; light and darkness, good and evil, action and reaction. But it is a horrifying and ghastly day that finds a man realizing the extent to which this is true, to find out the nature of this law that allows ungodly aberrations beyond the human mind to come to being, and to realize the nature of things that contradict everything that was ever natural to our existence. We live to know. We live to learn all that we can about the universe in which we so happened to find ourselves. For longer than any tome of history or human construct can recall to, humans have looked at the stars above them and asked exactly what is out there. It is to that end that we reached out towards those stars, towards the earth below our feet and towards everything that we laid our eyes upon; not out of some civilized or sophisticated stigmata, but simply out of some instinctive and innate need to know. But there are thoughts and insights that cross the minds of some individuals that never should come to being; insane glimpses that are forgotten as soon as they were come across or some horrid insight that would drive even the healthiest mind mad. This is a tale of one such secret; something that I only came across through my human sense of curiosity and that I hope no one would ever come across again (though I know that I am only one of many). I write this not out of hope that someone may learn something from it, nor do I write it out of want for it to be told. I do not write this for personal need to tell someone, or the want to tell a story. I write this out of hope that when the vile fiends of incomprehensible existence have brought about the end of this minuscule thing that we have so unfittingly called a universe, that I will have died along with everything else that anyone had ever known. I write this out of hope that this will all finally be over soon. It was a warm day in August when it all began (for me, at least; I suspect that this has gone on far beyond the reaches of any human understanding of time). It was an average day, with average weather, and the average people outside on their average routines would talk of how nice the weather is, even though they could really care less about what the weather was doing when they feel like their deadlines are coming up faster than they should and they have scarcely anything to show for the average moment that they feel like their whole lives had been leading up to. It was all so mundane, and yet, nobody seemed to pay any attention to how boring and monotonous the times were. I suppose they all assumed that there was nothing to learn in it; that, since everything about it seemed ordinary, there was nothing new or exciting or abject to observe. And thus, they passed by the passage of time as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Of course, they didn't know. Nobody could have known. I didn't even know, back then before all of this began. It was because the human mind has a very bad habit of putting normality in the place of that which it does not pay attention to. That is the purest definition of ignorance, and it was through that ignorance that the creature held it's veil. And to that end, it seemed like an insignificant turn of events, nothing but a microscopic tweak of their normal days that made me realize the things that everybody else walked right by. The things that they passed every day, that watched them and plotted things for them that were too horrid and too alien for any human mind to ever be able to accept. He was every bit as normal as the world that people had their lives in. That is, he wore the very image of the average man; that with which nothing was wrong. His average brown hair, blue eyes, lanky build self that somebody would be inclined to forget as quickly as they would catch sight of him. The exact image of mundane. But there was always something about him that could only be described as exactly wrong. I thought it might have been something about the way he carried himself; it drew my eye to him in a way that seemed entirely unavoidable. Then again, I thought it might have been his eyes. That cold, dead look that they had about them; that glossy haunting stare that no trace of emotion was behind. It nagged at the back of your mind, continually telling you that something was irrevocably and completely wrong. His very presence seemed alien to me, and from what I had gathered, it was just as perturbing to everyone else. His name was Malecai Van Durst, and his existence was an empty one. Past his average face and those haunting eyes, there was something intrinsic to his humanity, maybe even his being, that was simply missing. Of course, I did not know this; back then, I was not exceptionally insightful or wise. Rather, I held the same mental capabilities as everybody else. And thus, just like everybody else, I assumed that there was nothing important about him, that there was nothing too revolutionary behind that cold stare of his, that it was the minds of everybody around him that gave him that unnatural presence. I assumed that he was normal, simply because he did not seem to remarkable. It was an inexplicably sunlit night that found me at his house. In my hands there was a brown, leather bound book that, at that moment, seemed to be the most important thing in the world. My heart beat faster and faster with every second that passed; nervousness and panic slowly gripping my mind. It built up unbearably, until I couldn't take it anymore. But when I opened the journal of Malecai Van Durst, something shifted. Something that reality needed to function fell out of place when I looked at that first page. I felt it happen; my stomach dropped as my body realized that something incredibly and completely wrong had come into place. But I simply dismissed it as nervousness and ignored my body's cold chills as I read through the scrawling of this man that had fascinated me so. I now wish more than anything that I had heeded the warnings of the things that made me human. To whoever may find themselves unfortunate enough to find this book; I write this not out of hope that someone may learn something from it, nor do I write it out of want for it to be told. I do not write this for personal need to tell someone, or the want to tell a story. I write this out of hope that when the vile fiends of incomprehensible existence come to destroy this excuse for a world that we have, that I will be among the first to die. Please stop reading. I didn't stop reading. No matter how much his introduction chilled me to the bone, no matter how many warnings I received from how many different places, I never stopped reading. I turned the page, unaware that I was caught in a mindless drone in a mindless series of events that not even the gods could have conceived. The words from those pages literally leapt out into my head; as if they wanted to be read, as if the book they were in were a prison they fervently had to escape from. I did not read the book so much as think it. In my eyes, the greatest mercy of being human is the inability to know and see all the unknown that you wish so much you could learn more about. People don't know the mercy that their gods showed when they created them knowing nothing. And yet, humanity is continually on a search for knowledge, always reaching out and learning everything they can about anything they see. I once saw a butterfly fly by my window. Only once. Any normal person would have looked at it and thought of how beautiful it is, or the symbolism it could hold in their given situation. But I could not see the butterfly. I looked at the butterfly's wings and I saw the cells that made them up, the chemical reactions that gave it life, the elements and compounds continually changing and shifting to keep up with the butterfly's beating wings. When I looked at that butterfly, I could not see the butterfly, rather I saw what the butterfly was made of and what the butterfly truly was. It is this way with everything. People will talk to me, and I will look at them and see the thoughts that go through their head, the choices they have made in their lifetime, even the choices that they have yet to make. I see their life; the things they know and the ideas they have and the things that the world around them makes of them. But regardless of how hard I try, I cannot see their face. I sat down with her some nights ago. She said that she wanted to watch the sun set. So I laid down with her in that field, and as she talked to me I saw her entire life in return, from the day that she was conceived to the moment that she would die. All of it, as if it happened in an instant, and I could barely hear what she was telling me. I couldn't remember anymore what she had looked like to me before this all began. She seemed so simple and innocent back then. The sun set. She gazed in awe at how beautiful it was, while I looked on in sorrow. In that moment, I saw every sunset, in all the days until the sun burnt out and took the last spark of life from this planet we were on. I saw that light descend over brilliant oceans, burning lava, towering mountains and endless plains; even past the primordial soup that had once held everything she was. But I could not see this sunset, the one that she had so badly wanted to share with me. The last sunset we would watch together. I couldn't bear to tell her that I hadn't seen it. And as I got up, I glimpsed at the ground. I saw the earth form from dust, and I saw it erode away into dust as well, taking with it any evidence that we had ever been here to watch this sun set. I can't stop seeing all of this. Everything that ever happened and everything that ever will is constantly playing itself through my mind, as if it is happening every instant of every day. Maybe it is. But IT WILL NOT STOP. The words flew into my head faster than I read them. I had finished the entire book long before I had turned even halfway through. And it was around that point at which I felt him behind me. That unnatural presence that could only belong to him. "I see you." A cold voice at my shoulder. I woke up in a cold sweat. There was a state of panic as there would be following any nightmare. But after it had subsided, there was the muddled thoughts that told me I needed to go back to sleep. I was even just about to when I felt his inhuman presence at my back again. "Even now, I see you." I woke up once again. As with any event so incomprehensible as this, there was a moment of stupor before my panic came back with a frightful vengeance. I still had the book. There were no more muddled thoughts. I leapt from my bed with the words that were within ceaselessly swimming through my head. My intrinsic need to know, that thing which made me human; it seized my head as I frenzied over the events that had just occurred. I would get to the bottom of this, I swore to myself. It came to me in a dream within a dream, and I found it in that which did not do what it should. That which should be there, but wasn't. That which felt unnatural to everything that I had once known. The last words of his journal. It ended as abruptly as my dream had, and it rang through my head ceaselessly, as if something significant was held within. But I knew what it meant. That presence that seemed alien to everyone that had ever seen him; those cold, dead eyes, with a meaningless stare behind them. Those eyes that no longer let him see what happened at that moment. I needed to speak with him were I to find out exactly what happened. It was that conclusion that led me to his front door, my heart beating like no tomorrow and that leather-bound book from my dreams clutched well in hand. As I said before, the human mind has a very bad habit of putting normality in the place of that which it does not pay attention to. The same thing is held true for that which it does not comprehend; the mind will create an explanation for any abnormality that will put that abnormality back into the realm of the mundane. Let us say, for example, that a street corner were to house a monstrous creature, say, brachiating from some buildings. People every day would acknowledge the existence of it, and those same people would refute it with explanations that would seem rational to what they were familiar with. Things such as, "Somebody must be playing a trick on me," or, more often "I must be seeing things; that can't possibly be there." And so they assume normality, even knowing the presence of this thing. Of course, this is a bit of an exaggerated example, but doubts of some such similar nature as those excuses rang through my head as I waited for him to answer his door, not out of actual doubt but out of some instinctual and unfounded worry that what I was doing and what I was thinking would seem silly to someone else. But rare is the man who stops to have the thought, "What if this is real? What if there is actually an enormous furry monster in my presence, and what if it could actually take my life from me with but a thought?" I was not such a man. And as such, I never noticed what was behind that cold, dead look in his eyes. I wasn't sure if it was because I had not understood it, or if I had just never bothered to actually look and assume that everything was as it should be. But it was not a cold look that he had about his eyes; as he opened the door I came to the revelation that he did not have eyes at all. There was a pair of empty sockets where they should have been. It was then that I realized what was so strange about him. It wasn't his presence, or the way in which he carried himself; it was the way that reality bent around him as if it was afraid to touch him. It was how everything about him exuded an alien aura that made everything exactly wrong. It was how everything that existed in his presence should not have, and how everything that should have existed did not. It was the absence of everything that should be there; that everything that was familiar in any way distinctly did not exist. I found it in that which did not do what it should. That which should be there, but wasn't. He invited me into his house with the promise of explanation. And against every inclination my body had to turn and run, the human part of my brain that wanted nothing more than to know pulled me in. Spoiler I no longer fear Malecai. Before, he had possessed in that haunting presence and empty stare something that tugged at my most primal fears; something that told my body that there was something horribly amiss and made me absolutely sick to my stomach. It was made no better by the fact that I had no idea as to what was so alien about him. But that, much like time and the things that tied me to the world around me, has long since passed. I now, rather than fearing him, fear for him. And on that same note, I fear for myself. I fear that, as time passes by and my insight on these events increases, I may become more like him. To me, the most frightening thing is that I may lose my humanity; because, like him, I would not care after the fact. His eye sockets held an emptiness behind them that no pair of eyes ever could have had about them. Sitting there, staring into them, I got the most indescribably horrid chills down my spine; and yet out of some fascination I could not look away. As much as I appreciated his hospitality in making me a warm cup of tea, it did nothing to help the frigid feeling that resulted from his empty lack of a stare. "Before I begin," he started off; with that same emotionless, almost inhuman drawl he always spoke with, "You should know that I've had a very long time to consider all of this. And you must excuse me if I seem like I'm rambling on at points, but this is a very complicated manner and I don't exactly have a speech to explain it all memorized. Really, all I'm asking is that you would try to understand as best you can." He stared at me, waiting for a response. I still wasn't entirely sure how an eyeless person could stare at me, but he did, and it was his expectation of a response that led me to nod for him to continue. "The first thing that you have to understand is that you're not the first person to go through this. There were three others before you, myself included." He reached for an unusually nondescript bag; one that seemed TOO normal, given the circumstances. "Every one of us, like you, began this ordeal in a dream of a dream; and, like you, we each came out of that dream with something we did not have before." "Why a dream in a dream?" Under any other circumstances I would have been reluctant to interrupt, but I felt absolutely starved of knowledge; knowledge that he seemed to have. I wanted all of it. "See, that is on the more implicit side of things," he sighed, taking a moment to think through his words before he said them. "Imagine, if you will, that it was possible to consider having a thought without ever actually having that thought. What is to be made of that thought that you decided not to have? It does not exist, at least, not in your head; exactly in the sense that it never actually crossed your mind. The only sign of it is in that consideration; in that thought in which you contemplated the thought that you did not think. Such is the nature of dreams; that if you have a dream in which you have a dream, your innermost dream never actually existed. And in this, it is through such dreams that it reaches out into the outermost edges of our existence." It was a bit difficult for me to follow at the time, but I understood what he was saying well enough. Even as I drew breath to ask more questions, though, he continued to explain. "If I may," he said, deliberately cutting off my attempt at another question, "and if you would keep up, I'd like to pick up where I left off." I nodded approval, though I imagine that he would have done so anyway. From the nondescript bag he pulled a round stone tablet. It was difficult to focus my eyes on it, as if it wasn't actually there, or it only existed in some lucid state of reality. "The most recent person to go through this came out with this," he elaborated, handing it to me. It seemed an act of will to make myself observe it, but I saw some form of writing on it, distorted towards the middle as if the center of it had disappeared at some point and the rest had rushed into its place. "She was methodical; a very scientific person. She always demanded logical explanation for everything; and so when she found herself in this situation she was distressed, to say the least. She came to me as well; instantly homing in on me as a source of explanation for these seemingly unexplainable events." Just like I had? Just like I had. "I almost feel sorry for her. She considered herself intelligent; so much so that she refused to accept my explanations because they went against what she thought of things. But her closed-mindedness didn't help her at all; it didn't change the course of events that followed, or protect her from it in any way. Nothing could have stopped it. Her own overconfidence left her like a turtle on its back, and when the smoke cleared and she realized that everything she thought she knew was wrong, it drove her insane." "On that note, please listen to what I have to say. The things that follow this encounter may be unavoidable, but I don't want to watch the same thing happen to you." I was still enchanted by the surreal stone tablet I had in my hands, but I had heard every word that he had said. I admit that in my obsession with what this all may mean, and my want to absorb every bit of information from this encounter, I may have been only halfway listening. But I nonetheless nodded to him, as deaf and empty as that nod may have been. "The person before her," he continued, reaching into the bag once more, "was absolutely nothing like her. He almost seemed to take it all in stride, impossible as that may seem. Despite my statements to the contrary, he considered the events and the thing that caused them to be an act of God. And as much as he tried to warn others, as much as he tried to change his place in a force much more powerful than him; he never could." He handed me a black ball. "This is what he took from his dreams. That ball was of an indescribably abyssal nature. It was so dark that you would think that it was a hole; a hole that I could almost feel everything falling into as I looked into it. Emptier than Malecai's eyes, looking into filled me with an alien and blank feeling akin to that of his stare. "...What is it?" "It's a hole. A hole in reality and everything that exists." I think that it was at that point that it started to become too much to take in. Maybe it was before that, and that was only the point at which it surmounted. But regardless of the evidence that I held in my hands and the proof that he held in his empty eye sockets, I remember that it was at this point that I began to disbelieve him. "And finally, there was me. There isn't much to say about me, save for the fact that I was frightened beyond all belief. It was understandable. But these things happened to me so long ago that I have long since gone insane, and long since recovered." He gave me a moment to think. And after a while, my human need to know took over again. "You keep talking about these 'events' and 'it'. What are they?" His stare locked onto me with a level of intent that made the emptiness all the more horrifying. As my eyes locked into his lack thereof, he began a sentiment that I would never forget. "The philosophy that all extreme opposites present themselves equally to nullify each other is one that is usually met relatively well. Many people today apply this to many things; light and darkness, good and evil, action and reaction. But it is a horrifying and ghastly day that finds a man realizing the extent to which this is true, to find out the nature of this law that allows ungodly aberrations beyond the human mind to come to being, and to realize the nature of things that contradict everything that was ever natural to our existence." "It was at the hands of that thing that this happened. Merely by seeing it, or by coming in some form of contact, it canceled out our being, much in the same way that action and reaction would meet to equal zero. The woman called it The , because she claimed that she began to call it something but no adequate term came to mind. The man refused to call it anything, saying that there was no possible way of doing justice to it. He may have the most accurate viewpoint, if only for that sentiment. I call it Iaoyg." "I still remember the day that I saw it. It shouldn't have existed. Seeing it brought new light to the existence that I had once had; how the universe around me had almost tangibly made it NOT exist. There was not a single thing about it that did not exuberate complete wrongness; everything about it told my mind that it could not possibly be real, and that if it was, I would not have been able to comprehend it. Yet, there it was, writhing with life and staring straight at me. That stare paralyzed me with fear; it did not even have eyes and yet it scrutinized every detail of my being with an indomitable gaze." "It is not evil. That being said, it is not good. It is best described as the opposite of both good and evil. It revolts both of those, just as it repulses everything else. It is, most accurately, the equal and opposite reaction to the existence of our universe." "It reaches out to our existence for something that I can't comprehend. But, as it is the reaction to our existence, it destroys more and more of the fabric of our existence every time it does so. Perhaps eventually it will destroy itself along with everything we have ever known." "Because of these events at the hands of Iaoyg, we are Yggdrasil without life; suns without light; effect without cause; truly, a reaction that is no longer fueled by an action. You see, when you see a person; you do not actually perceive that person but rather the effect that they have on the world around them. The actual sight of the person is actually only the light that they reflect, and the sound they make is only an effect caused by them; the reaction to their action." "To this end we do not exist. Yes, you see the reactions as if we did; but the action in and of itself has been removed in a way that contradicts those fundamental laws of the universe. There is a reaction, but no action. And it does indeed go against everything that your existence says should be allowed to happen, just like you felt it did." I understood then. The man I was talking to was absolutely insane. Somehow ignoring the blatant evidence I had before me, I came to the conclusion that something HAD to be wrong with Malecai. Perhaps there was something wrong with me too; I had believed him for a while. Thanking him for his explanation, I turned to leave. "I apologize", he left me with. "Please understand that I can do nothing to stop it." I opened his door. The events that followed changed the way I look at the universe around us. It changed the way I look at light, darkness, space and time, life, and death; and in one fell swoop every thought, notion, and belief that had compromised who I was up until that point was torn down to its foundation. Suffice it to say that it changed who I was from that point on. And it is at this point that I would ask you, whoever was unfortunate enough to find themselves reading this, to stop. I would not want you to know anything beyond this point, as I have been burdened with the same knowledge and would wish nobody the same torture. However, it is a bit too late for that, I know; your fundamental want to know compels you to continue on just as I would have before. I don't blame you, rather; I apologize. As I opened the door, a familiar feeling coursed through my being. It was no human emotion (at least, not one that I had ever felt); but rather the same feeling that I got when I opened that accursed journal for the first time. It was the feeling of something intrinsic to the function of our universe falling out of place. It was the feeling of something intrinsic to reality being moved out of its correct order. It was as if opening the door somehow led to the reaction of the universe in this manner. And it, much like the cause behind it, was purely alien to everything that I had ever known. I cannot describe what I saw behind that door. To attempt to do so would be the definition of futility; not in the fact that it was so alien to me but out of the fact that words did not exist to adequately describe it. Suffice it to say that the ungodly aberration in reality that I now found myself presented with chilled me to my deepest core. Something in me told me that I should run, and even as it did something else told me that I had to stay and observe it. I had to learn about it. But how terribly it made my stomach churn; every fiber of my being thrashed in rejection of this thing that contradicted everything I had ever been familiar with. This thing that was the other side of the coin on which our entire universe was a side; just its presence was enough to drive me mad. And it was confronting me. I think I felt myself cease to exist. It was an oddly subtle feeling, but it was alien nonetheless. In the moment I saw it, something in my being and my perspective fell out of place. It was not just that I no longer existed; I was a being that contradicted everything that the universe says should happen. Everything about me that existed should not have, and everything in me that should have existed did not. Just like him. I began to see that which the world would not let me normally, but that which I would usually be able to observe thinned out of existence. As I woke up in Malecai's floor, I wondered what would allow me to overlook the lucidity with which everything had been happening. I had been dreaming. I was still dreaming. I rushed out of the door and began the most horrible form of torture ever possible for a person. As I looked at the town we were in, time didn't exist. I saw the creation, entirety of life, and inevitable destruction of every single individual building, as if it was all happening simultaneously in this specific point in time. They rose from the ground, only to crumble and fade to dust, leaving nothing in their wake. I looked up at the sky. I was greeted by the sight of a million suns, the fiery reactions and unbearable heat of every sun that ever was and every sun that ever would be. I screamed in pain as my eyes boiled and burned in my skull. The second time that I woke up, things were no different. It has been years since those fateful events that sentenced me to this nonexistence that I find myself in. I fear that I might become like Malecai someday; that I may go insane and come back without something that is necessary to my humanity. I know I cannot die; but that doesn't stop me from trying to take my life that no longer exists. Please understand, I did not write this because I wished for you to read it. But if I could change anything in the course of time, rest assured that I would not have you know these things. But I am helpless to stop it. It is to that end that I wrote this; not out of some want for others to know, but for the hope that Iaoyg may someday succeed in reaching out to our universe. I wrote this out of the hope that the end may come soon. Please forgive me. As a warning; this story is not one for the paranoid or people who cannot interpret concepts very well (at least, I did not mean it to be; feel free to go at it anyway) As always, feel free to leave questions, comments, cnc, et cetera because I very much appreciate it ^-^
http://anasomnia.com/ Have fun : D
I know I ask for something of you guys and disappear into the night And it may seem like I'm taking advantage of your existence But that's only because I totally am ANYWAY Not sure about a bit of my story that I just wrote, it seems to me like it might be a bit hard for the average person to follow, so if I posted it would you guys read it? <3
I'm having issues thinking of names for characters, khv. Shoot names at me. First names, last names, ridiculous names, any name you can think of. Go crazy. Go absolutely nuts. Go.
So you can have an enormous picture of my face on your wall There is also pictures of space, in case you like space Or you can wake up to the sweet images that my art brings us all I just wish that you could put poetry on a canvas and sell THAT to people
I'm already a good bit into this story, and it's been on dA thus far. So I'm going to link to the location on there rather than copypaste it all into this thread. Call me lazy but it's what I'm doing. I'll also be notifying people via this thread when there are new chapters up, as long as there is some interest shown. But regardless, I'm dissatisfied with the amount of feedback I have on it, and would therefore like some if somebody finds that they have the time to read any amount of this. Link to all chapters; http://loldalk.deviantart.com/gallery/#The-Perspective-Of-A-Few-Helter-Skelter-Worl Link to the first chapter; http://fav.me/d2y91o5 Go nuts
CHOOSE A TITLE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER OF MY STORY l'VE NARROWED IT DOWN TO THESE TWO AND YES THERE IS AN ENORMOUS POE REFERENCE
He once hired a prostitute off of a street corner. It was an ominous night that saw him lead her into that second-rate hotel room, but the air hung with more significance than it did with foreboding. The first thing he did was throw open the musky and dust-covered curtains so that he could see the moon that hung with unnatural radiance through the smog in the night sky. And it was only when she asked him what he wanted when he began to talk. He lived in a world that looked on him with biased eyes. He took rainbows and sunsets from the sky and used the world as his canvas; he created artworks like they were children, believing that they could not be more beautiful and loving them as he would love himself. But the world would much rather hear the symphonies that he could pluck from the heartstrings of the broken masses, those dark requiems that he ever so wished that he could compose with color rather than sound. It told him that it would reward him if he decided to pull his soul into those symphonies, something he wished so much that he could still do. It therefore looked on him with scorn and disdain, and the brokenhearted masses that were once so pleased to hear the expression he gave them now look upon it with disappointment. He lived in a world that made him. Just as the whole universe would be pointless with no life to observe it, his existence would mean nothing as well if nobody observed his heart. They looked on it with a loving gaze, but even with the whole world cheering for the way he felt, he still felt so very lonely. It wasn't sympathy or empathy that they saw him with; they didn't know his person, and something was missing from what would be paradise because of it. But it was a cruel and ironic existence that he carried out with this, because the world had given him what he wanted when he asked to be heard, and when he asked the world to hear him without apathy. He lived in a world that made a science of death. He had seen every aspect of it systematically go through a person's mind, simply discarding whatever they didn't like, treating it almost as if it wasn't a part of who that person was. He knew who he was now and he remembered what he used to be, and that may have been the most terrifying thing to him. Because with these memories and this knowledge he knew that he had changed, and he didn't have a clue whether it was of his own accord. This change was killing him; he could not put himself into his work with the same vibrancy as he had before. The once-adoring masses now turned from him in disinterest; something that he had seen happen to so many others before him. It was a system, a cycle of commercializing a person's soul until there was nothing left in that shell of a person. And every time, society simply moved on to the next talent, the next beautiful heart; licking their bones clean as well. It was such a waste. They were all so nice. And now it had come for him. His name was Houston Blue. On that night he sat on the edge of the bed, fervently staring at the undying moon out the grimy window as he poured himself out to the hooker on the bed. Her eyes shifted from an empty look of boredom to one of abject amazement as she began to feel the pain that he lived with. When she had let him lead her into that filthy room for rent, she had expected anything except this. But there was simply no one else left for him to turn to. He thought himself a bad person. But as he walked out of the room with the weight of bottled-up emotions finally off of his chest, he left that girl with something. She shared his pain now, and she sympathized with him just as much as any person could. But even greater than that was what she learned. He had been one in a million, in a million people just like him. He was one in a trend of people selling their soul, not to the devil, but to the world around them. Every one of them sold their soul out of need and misconception, and she would feel sorry for them if she had not done the same with her body. She thought that there must be a city's worth of people out there that have made the same choices, that experience the same fame, and that hold that pain in their heart. And she knew that, so long as there were artists, there would be people like her, who would share the pain of Houston Blue.
http://loldalk.deviantart.com/ CLICK THE LINK http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2_0cyrGd8dM&feature=related CLOSELY FOLLOWED BY THIS ONE THEY HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH EACH OTHER, OTHER THAN THE FACT THAT CLICKING ON THEM WOULD ENTERTAIN ME VERY MUCH THANK YOUa
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