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Literature
I met God today.
It's simultaneously awe-inspiring, humbling and a bit of a let-down.
But then again, I'm not the first one to speak to him, so don't think I'm very special.
Essentially though what he was trying to communicate is that you don't have to worry. We're all on the same team, it'll work out fine in the end.
He's just telling himself a story and we're helping him get to the good part.
"His story" was the 1 that came before you. "My story" is the one that is you.
That's why they call it "history" and "mystery".
If it weren't my story, it'd be his story, and I'd be dead. It's my story, so I'm here.
So far it's been a pretty kicking story, so I can't blame God for getting tired of me getting in his way. All of us 1s are unique and special and important and have a place in God's plan, yes. But we can't take that place until we let it happen. Just relax.
Breathe.
And let your story become his story, because that's what creation is, it's His story. The first 1 that decided to try getting a look at
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Literature
Progress Quest Mid-level Guide
Some of you may not be aware of this MMO, it dates back to 2002 so it's fallen off the radar for most people, but I was a huge fan of it back in the day and lately I've been getting back into it. I figured I'd post a short guide up on here to help some people out and possibly spread the word about this forgotten gem.
The information below relies on the assumption that you already have a basic understanding of the game mechanics and user interface, if you need help understanding that, there's already information out there for you to find. I'm going to explain what build I've been using and the reasoning behind it, in the hopes that a few people will pick up on some tricks from an old hand at the game.
Now, first I should post my current build. I lost my old account information about seven years ago, so I started up fresh recently. It's been a bit interesting, there have been a few expansions since the last time I've played and I've been learning some new things along the way.
My current
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Literature
My Password is Difficult to Type While Drunk
You hate me
Your face I do not need to see
Your name is unknown to me
But I know that you hate this being
There are reasons for this I am sure
Whether it’s an act of mine or an act of her
My brain, in the middle, holds a fracture
A splice that makes me want to kill myself even in rapture
But you don’t mind, and I know this to be the case
You live your life while I drift through space
You have yours, and I have my place
But don’t worry I won’t hurt myself until the very final days
I can’t stand, I can’t think
But I sure as fuck remember how to drink
Oblivion, my sweet companion, tell me where to place the ink
And then into your embrace I shall finally sink
We’re all words scrawled on a page, this fact has been revealed
And as the flesh from my face shall surely be peeled
I suspect you’ll soon see the potency I yield
Just before I am put to pasture in some forgotten field
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Literature
Sereno (A Pathfinder Character Backstory)
Sereno was originally studying to be one of the researchers of the Crystalrock. However, when he was in his late 30s, full of pride for finally having a beard over a foot long and eager to be recognized as an adult upon his fast-approaching 40th birthday, his father told him it was his duty to become a man the traditional way: Bulette hunting. The two of them went west, south of the Cinderlands, until they reached their clan's traditional hunting grounds.
For the first few days it was a typical father/son camping trip, plenty of bonding and roast meat over the fire; Sereno in a hand-me-down set of bulette hide armor until he had killed his own, father Oddmund in his own set of bulette plate. But on the fourth day while they were hidden, stalking a landshark they'd spotted a few hours ago and waiting for it to surface, they were surprised by a Xenarth. It attacked Sereno first, seeing him as the weaker target, covering him in ichor when it launched itself at him. His father told him to
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Literature
Title too long for DA
There is a place in my brain that is counter-aligned
A place that is deformed and finds itself a few paces behind
While bits rush and churn, it stagnates, repulsed
Not an obelisk in a maelstorm, but absinthe that failed to emulse
Disgusting wretch, craven, suicidal swine
Mental image: A lemming (Disney’s, not mine)
Skin worn as clothes, untanned human leather suit
Crisp, dry, clean, well-cut, assuredly Made-Just-For-You
One Size Fits Most, it said on the tag
And indeed it does, though my friend said I look like a fag
But it was bought years ago (or months, I forget), it is worn now, decrepit
Bits of it are too tight, there are tears in the fabric
A Mask of Leprosy A Man of Pustules A Husk of Nothing
These are the Names He calls out as he’s sleeping
Within and Without, mental images abound, thought-shape formed
But Within the thought-shapes provide comfort, I am warmed
Without, they oppress, they are a vice grip about my arms
And they beg, oh how they Beg, for me to submit t
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Literature
A Feather, Balanced Point-First Upon the Lake of..
"I shall only love once," I declared, age 12, "That much emotional and mental investment in one other person, that much trust? It would be impossible for me to do that once, watch it fail, and then return to try again."
I knew what I was talking about, though I meant it in an entirely different sense. Yes, I loved only once... In the sense that one takes heroin "just once", or a recovering alcoholic is coaxed into it for "old time's sake" just once. Was it David Sedaris who said something akin to "I've known a dozen smokers who have each had a dozen 'last cigarettes'"?
I fell in love only once, that much I held to in fact. Rather, I was tripped, shoved and knocked over a log lying just in front of a cliff, bouncing and tumbling all the way down. A scraped shin, a split forehead, a dozen nicks and scratches all along the way. At one point, sheer friction won out and I skidded to a halt facedown on the slope, a plume of dust rising in my wake. I stood shakily, dizzily, trying to sort out
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Literature
Suicide Prevention Week
Title: Suicide Prevention Week
Date Written: 09-08-2015
Jackson Pollock part two, this time the brain's properly diseased
Names into numbers, tired of fuckers trying to say they can see
Drip my brains onto the canvas and let you tell me what I mean
It's the nature of the system that I must be quarantined.
Ernest Hemmingway's successor, feminism's primary public enemy.
You can figure it out, I need no defense, it doesn't bother me.
Drawing without thinking and turning my brains into artwork,
Five suicides in four generations, who cares who is hurt?
Pass me the hemlock, I'll owe Asclepius a rooster for later.
Socrates is tired of the questioning, my head refuses to cater.
Brain's infested with philosophy, we'll solve that at the source.
A heart that doesn't beat, blood that doesn't run its course.
Hunter S. Thompson—Too weird to live, too rare to simply die.
End things on my own terms, exit when I—and only I—decide.
Tired of investigating your filth, I'll go out with a
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Literature
Sober Writing
I am not a human being, nope, if I were I'd have a brain.
Instead I'm just a carcass, a shell filled with disdain.
Once I was a weapon, yes, a tool that ended struggle.
But now my edge is dulled, yet, thoughts still fill my skull.
Directionless, passionless, the void that saps all will.
Ruthless, toothless, nothing would drive me to kill.
Myself? Others? There's a difference I can't find.
A guess? A stab? The contents of my broken mind.
Thoughts running laps, finding loopholes for me to exploit.
A trainwreck, slow motion, a thousand cars, no end in sight.
I barely know where I came from, where do I go from there?
It's hard to plot a course when the flightplan says "Anywhere".
Half the time I want to murder someone, half the time it's me.
A quarter of that, I want nothing, the rest of it, I want free.
Something's always itching under my skin, it wants to bust loose.
I'm a sack of guts filled with bile, I want to spill my pus on You.
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Literature
Three Little Words
Three little words, they say.
Those three little words.
But "they" are idiots, in-utero imbibers, inhibitions internalized and incensed irrespective of inherent intensity.
"They" don't realize, reality is a rarity, retconned repeatedly and recently revoked, retreat is regular, required for response.
"They" like to believe, brevity is a boon, boring, blantant bleatings betray their beastliness, barely becoming, but it's beneficial! At their behest.
One word, two words, three words or four.
A sentence, an extra letter, a mark by the door.
It's irrelevant, I'm incandesced, I'm irreparably id-poor.
Everything's a reminder, a sticky note on the desk.
Cover it in memories and you'll lose the important ones in the mess.
Reclusively return to retardation, it's a respite from the rest.
Throw nothing away, hold onto it all, don't ask, just do.
There's no time for willpower when the ego has work for you.
Blessings bestowed upon your brow, bleed, bastardborn, let us see if it is blue.
There's a pe
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Literature
Tired
I'm tired. Tired of sleepless nights.
Tired of speechless fright.
Tired of words unwritten.
Words, one writ in blood;
some in sweat, most in tears.
Tired of choking myself for you, for you, for you, for you.
Tired of slowing myself for you.
Tired of not-knowing myself, for you.
My brain is pulsing, seething, there's been no way out but down.
Paralyzed by a feedback spike and waiting on you.
No more, not again, never will I stop—run in, again, apologize and bow down?
No. There's nothing to be said, done is done, go away and let me be through.
Though, thoroughly burning boondoggle bridges brings me back to—my point, which is FUCK YOU, and you and you and you.
We are not companions, we will be–are–were associates, when my words speak they are spoken true.
I've sewn my lips shut for you and you and you.
But I will suffer through my own bloody maw, just to scream at you.
I'll cough up some blackened pus
Just to serve it up to you
I'll dump my brains all over the tabl
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Literature
Little Satan
You're my devil, my little satan, the chip on my shoulder.
Always whispering in my ear how to make life harder when I'm older.
But I'm smarter than a pixie, smarter than a won't-be.
Too smart for you, smarter than the credit you give to me.
You thought you were better, that I should bet her—wrong.
I can admit when I'm stupid, but I won't dance to your song.
My friends would ask how I'm doing, I'd say "not well".
But school taught me to put a smile on before the last bell.
Whisper your vile nothings to me, they'll fall on deaf ears,
I'm not the same scum you grew to know over the years.
Spirits carry me on their backs, the beloved town hero
But thanks to you, my angels will never earn their halo.
I've hated and I've loved, but for you I feel neither
The best way to put it in words is "choking on the ether"
If I had a million dollars, I wouldn't spare a dime for you
And I have a million hours, but still don't have the time for you.
My life's a rollercoaster and you're simply too sh
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Literature
Death
Death's got more than a cousin, he's got a whole damn family tree.
Up in that tree, hanging from a rope, you've got a corpse named Me.
The sturdiest branch is named Depression, now that's Death's uncle, and he's holding onto the rope.
He's an intermittent alcoholic, but his family and friends ignore it. It's just him being eccentric, and at least he's not abusing dope.
Depression's got a twin sister, and her name is Mania. She says that she's healthy even though she's flat broke.
Blew all her money on facebook games, now the food budget's been cut short. That's why she's got a daughter named Starvation, a private little joke.
And Depression has a son, he neglects him but he's there.
A young gentleman by the name of Love, every time he sees a pretty girl he stops to stare.
Love's favorite relative is his Grandfather, Psychosis.
Reality seems so sweet until Grandma Hope has one of her fits.
And on the other side, you've got Papa; Pain, the patriarch of the whole outfit.
The motivation fo
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Literature
Shirts
An embrace all of your own, from your Self unto your Self, established, endured, ensuring you're assured,
The warmth of Self brought upon Self, the quenching of need enrapturing.
A gift, from the Self, unto another, a bond forevermore entrusted
A warmth of Self given away with eternity
Everlasting.
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Literature
Posts from the mock-SJW blog I considered making

"I can't decide if liking pink is sticking it to the Patriarchy by showing that I'm not afraid to like traditionally "female" things, or if that's playing right into their rape-ridden fingers."
"One of my POC friends said that she thinks women today have it worse than POC. As an intersectionalist feminist, this concerns me. How can I treat POC issues as being as important as women's issues without disempowering her?"
"I don't see how anyone can be a feminist and not a vegetarian. Not for any moral reasons, but simply because it's participating in rape culture to routinely put "meat" in your mouth and enjoy it. Liberated women don't need the pleasure of any sexual metaphor men use to assert their superiority."
"Have you ever considered that handicapped accessible ramps and businesses that allow seeing eye dogs and other service animals are being a bit ableist? I mean, think about it. They're changing their policies and taking extra effort just to cater to them. They're putting them
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Literature
Analysis Of Myself
So I noticed a few days ago that I say "I don't know" a lot.
Like, multiple times over the course of individual conversations.
It's a theme for me, I say it more than "um" and "uh" combined. It's a constant motif in my speech and writing.
And I think I may have puzzled out why I say it.
Smart people have always annoyed me. Self-assured smart people are even worse. But the worst thing is a self-assured dumb person that thinks he or she is smart. Smugness is terrible regardless, but at least tolerable when it is warranted. When it is unwarranted, it is one of the most unattractive traits a person could present.
I've been told I'm smart by a lot of people, but frankly I don't put much stock in it. I am, at best, well-spoken. This may portray an aura of intelligence, but it is a fašade.

This is why I hedge myself by reassuring the other person that I "don't know". By remaining uncertain, I guarantee that I am none of the things that annoy me. If I am not self-assured, I c
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Literature
So I was talking to my mother earlier tonight.
I've always sort of objected to the fact that poly people consistently lump themselves in with LGBTQWERTY communities and whatnot, telling people that if their boy/girlfriend isn't polyamorous, they don't "accept" their partner. It's always on the non-poly person to be polyamorous and if they can't do that then they're closed-minded and the poly person should dump them for someone more "open" (the usually unspoken intended meaning being "better").
And it always bugged me, but it took a 1 AM conversation with my mother to understand why.
And you know why that is?
Events can shape and alter your sexuality, sure. But for the most part, sexuality's foundation is set in place at birth. If you're gay/straight/bi/whatever, odds are that was something out of your control.
But y'know what? The thing that every poly community likes to espouse is how everyone is capable of loving more than one person. So being polyamorous isn't something from birth or not. We're all capable of lovin
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www.UnforgettableWriting.com

That's my website. There's nothing there now, that'll change at some point. It's not a priority right now, I just bought it to have an email address, feel free to drop me a line for any reason.

Here's what is a priority: I'm collecting my writing together to make an ebook. It'll likely include everything, or nearly everything, I've written to date. Which is a lot more than the ~75 finished pieces here on DA, there's also plenty of stuff spread across 7 years of hard drives I have at home, plus some stuff I posted to tumblr that never got posted here. Maybe for shits and giggles I'll even throw in the half of a novel I was starting for NaNoWriMo a few years ago, I'll have to decide if I want to finish it and polish it or abandon it and move on.

It'll be name your own price, so you can pick a copy up for free if you want. I'm busy as can be lately, in all the right ways, so I can't give a time estimate on when this project will be finished, but I can't imagine it will take particularly long given 99% of the writing is already done.

If you guys only knew what were going on over here, your minds would melt. There are wheels set in motion, baby.

I think I'm going to start using DA again soon too, either before, during or after the culmination of this project. It's a useful place to dump this stuff in the interim.
  • Listening to: Google Play Music (Spotify died like Pandora)
  • Reading: How to Fail at Almost Everything and Still Win Big
  • Watching: Don't have the time to watch stuff lately
  • Playing: Minecraft (it's changed so much since beta)
  • Eating: Fruit and veg makes a man happy
  • Drinking: Water, everything else tastes weird now

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ThePoeticPaladin
Brant Coleman
Artist | Professional | Literature
United States
I study etymology for fun. Words are what I do, and I've gotten pretty good at them over the last few years.

I've got a lot of projects on a lot of burners, if you want to help out with any of them, send me a message. If you're good at something, I can probably find a use for you.

My contact email is: Brant@UnforgettableWriting.com (the domain is currently parked, don't worry about that, I'll still get your email)

Profile picture and ID done by the wonderful MohawkRex, you can see it full size here.
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:iconanon371:
Anon371 Featured By Owner Feb 4, 2015
Happy Birthday :meow: :iconcakeplz:
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:iconderplight:
derplight Featured By Owner Aug 14, 2014
You know what I realized?

This site's dead-boring when all your friends leave it.
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RGB64 Featured By Owner Jul 11, 2014
>2011+3
>not updating the donation box on :iconishygddtplz: to match the current year
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Ikeepboothin Featured By Owner Oct 28, 2013  Professional Writer
idk how i got here but i might just watch you now
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