A day for doodles

This is all open for interpretation

ummm...

Mirror

You humans are all the same. You want someone to love you, to pamper you, and tell you that your the only one, that you are special.  Well I have news fleshies, your not special, your not beautiful, and frankly, you smell funny. To think an all knowing being like myself would find you beautiful and deserving of my praise... Why, that is just pompous, absurd, and quite arrogant.

But... I only-

I only! I simply! Just a small favor Mr. Magic Mirror!
Do I look like your pool boy? Is it simply the nature of a mirror to attract narcissism? This is a fate I grow tired of girl, a fate worse than having to stare at your wretched face every morning as you apply your "beauty" layer by layer...
Leave me be for today girl, I am not yet ready for such torture.

*girl turns and walks away, bowing her head*

Mirror mirror on the wall, you look so lonely long and tall, what makes you shine and tell the truth? What makes you such a hardy sleuth?
Be it magic or a curse, what brought you to such an awful earth?

Tom Thinks

Dead ends as dry as dust.
Bones, fragmented and strewn across the lawn.
A fairy who is long past her prime, lazily floats along leaving a trail of dark smoke behind her.
The sun shines but it is not seen, hidden behind clouds of lost hopes and dreams.
The air smells of old cookies and rotten fruit.

"This is the place lost to us long ago" says the disembodied voice.

Tom could care less, he looks around the unfamiliar surrounding. The scorched earth, the dark clouds, the countless horrors around him, and he thinks to himself; "Did I remember to lock the front door?"

Thoughts on the road...

Biding for time, I waste my days in a whirl of activity and emotion. The tides that come to wash away the debris of things left behind, they carry with them a chill and a hope of places far beyond my reach.

One step off the track... I feel lost.
Two steps, and I feel free.
Three steps, and I never feel like turning back.

Like dust our past flakes and falls apart, blow by the wind, it covers our lives , layer by layer.
That which is not used in soon forgotten under the dusty layers of past. Old sins are forgotten and new ones are forged. Time is only a modern adaptation of an old idea. Like the wheel, and all other great inventions, time was simply a facade, just an idea without a use. However, all great ideas are eventually corrupted by the power of human greed, they are marketed and adapted, made "useful". We are sold back these abominations of creativity, these perversions of free thought, made to believe that our lives will be made easier, more efficient, better.
But does one ever stop and contemplate these improvements? Should one not approach a new idea with caution and a bit of skepticism?
Does time really help us manage our actions, our ideas, our sleep. Does time really allow us the freedom to break our lives into easily manageable blocks, or does it restrict us to this form? Perhaps we are bound by the very things that we believe brings us freedom. Feed your thoughts, question everything, don't become complacent, and above all encourage differences in thinking, the individual is beautiful but the community is powerful.

Joan is Alone pt.1

Cold, alone, bitter, Joan sits on the side of the long empty stretch of road, waiting, watching, eyes fixed on a distant space beyond the horizon. The cool fall air numbs the tips of his ears; he thinks little of it. Joan has far more on his mind than physical discomfort. Joan uses an old trick to help tame his thoughts, he sits quietly, opining his mind, becoming aware of all that is around and within him. Listening to the low hum of silence that surrounded him, watching the gray sky in the distance fade to black as the sun set, Joan continued to sit. He let his mind wander, let his thoughts run free like wild sheep, and like sheep he herd them, one at a time into their proper pens. Joan was a Shepard to his own thoughts. No thought was left untouched, anger was acknowledged and put aside, and with it fear. Hunger was tamed, and old memories were gently closed into there own resting place. As each thought was taken care of, Joan began to relax and sink further into a new world, a place of light, of peace, and of absolute freedom. Joan could feel his body slowly slip away, like an afterthought, as something new took its place. This new body, this new thing, it was beyond words, beyond description, it knew no bounds or limits.

The best Joan could do to describe this feeling to you or I would be to stare wide eyed and awestruck and proclaim, "amazing". Joan would later write in his journal and describe this as a state of connection, as a time in his life that contradicted everything that he ever knew, a time when for but a brief but glorious moment, Joan no longer felt alone...

Blank

For now I will stay hidden in the darkest depths of the inter-webs, plotting my grand escape...

This hidden cove offers be the most beautiful of treasures, nothing, emptiness, possibility. A blank canvas is a canvas that could one day hold a masterpiece, a rare work of beauty that an artist meticulously slaves on in secret for years only for it to be stolen by a petty thief and pawned off for a cheep thrill. Later it is sold to a lonely man who finds beauty in this lost art, frames and hangs it on his bedroom wall where it is admired every day. Its beauty brings this man hope, it fills him with emotion that never before existed and offers a brief escape from the hell that is his own doing. A blank canvas can one day become a father daughter finger paint day where laughs and smiles are exchanged, colors are flung, and memories are made. A blank canvas canvas can become the outlet for the thoughts of those whose minds are far beyond saving. In this multiverse  of possibility nothing can become the key to everything. However, a blank canvas could always remain blank. Simply because one can, does not mean one will. However endless the possibilities, there must always be a catalyst, a spark, a bit of magic. Momentum begins with but a single movement.

Announcement

Hello all,

Being new to this whole blogosphere, and not knowing wear to start, I've decided to start off by dumping some random poetry/old thoughts. These were scattered around my iPod notes, my phone texts to myself, and other random sources. I am aware that they are not the highest quality posts but hey, I have to start with something. I'm not quite sure where I will go from here but I am open to any suggestions. What do people enjoy reading on these things? I'm not people so.... Let me know in the comments.

For future submissions I would like to involve interactions with the community. Perhaps interactive stories where you are given the choice to vote on story outcome? 

If you find this page even mildly interesting then speak up, let me hear your opinion otherwise ill keep posting whatever I want. Not that I wont do that anyway......

p.s. If you don't want to be here anymore check out my favorite stomping grounds over to the right side of the page. Surely you can find something to entertain yourself with.