Well, if you know me, then you know that this would be my third thread for my writings. If you don't know me, as in your a new(er) user, than this is my third thread for my writings. This is a fairly akward situation, so I feel the need to explain:
I am making this final thread (and yes, final), because I realised something during my Hiatus. When I 'quit' AG, I was fairly discusted with my works. I absolutely loathed them. And after a while, I realized something: that it didn't matter. Who cares what I thought about them. What matters is what OTHERs think about them. I wouldn't be able to grow as a writer if my angst over my own works led people to assume that they WERE bad.
While some of them genuinely reeked, there were others that were genuinely good. And as I looked back over my first writings, I realized another thing too: that I had gotten better. That my works had gone from a slipshod, unbalanced affair to a generarrly more organized shipshod affair.
So I am not making this thread to be unique in having *3* threads about my work, or for vanity, or anything like that. I am making it so that you, the reader, will look at my works, and will hopefully tell me how to get better.
I'll have one up shortly. I've also got an essay I'd like to put up, but its religious. My english teacher had us write an essay/story inspired by something we had read so far this year, and I chose 'Sinners In the Hands of an Angry God'. Early Colonial/Puritan time frame, FTW?
Most descisions are best made on a level head, after a chance to think about it. However, I am not allowed to breathe, nor stop for air, nor hope for respite.
It is expected, nay, COMMANDED, that i run on all gears, high octane, all the time. Non stop. Around the freaking clock. Tick tock tick tock tick tock.
My community decrees that all must go the same speed: Ludicrous speed. Anyone who stops is only displaying their weakness. Afterall, so many bare heavier loads and continue on, why cant you do it? Anyone who stops, even if for but a moment, is weak, and is a cancer that ought to be removed from society. Forcibly, if nessasary.
I cannot stop anymore.
I stopped, and was 'olitely escorted' from civilized company. I stopped, and have been ostracised by many. I stopped, and most of my sanity kept ****ing on going. Add my many flaws to the mix, and my continued drive to keep going but for one reason, and one reason only:
Survival, that I may not be so unfortunate as to draw unwanted attention to myself.
Well, a title actually tells a lot about a poem if you think about it. Or it might be because I'm pushed towards analysing poems to the extremes by my teachers. Bollocks.
