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Sarcastic_Name
Don't look.
Joined: Mar 27, 2005
Age: 20
Posts: 3582
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 Posted: Wed Aug 31, 2005 10:59 pm Post subject: |
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Has anyone else submitted anything, it still show's my submission as the newest.
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(Currently undergoing personality reboot) |
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GalileoAce
Mildly Anti-Social In A Friendly Way
Joined: May 10, 2005
Posts: 2174
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| Posted: Thu Sep 01, 2005 12:59 am Post subject: |
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I will be once I transcribe some of my writings from paper to data. 
GA |
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Antigone
Blue Jay
Joined: Sep 04, 2005
Posts: 86
Location: Rochester, Minnesota
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| Posted: Fri Sep 09, 2005 10:40 am Post subject: Writing |
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| I don't claim to know anything about writing. More often than not my poems don't seem to make sense. I just like to do it. This is a great thing thank you for setting it up. |
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Prometheus
Mindless Philosopher
Joined: May 06, 2005
Posts: 1506
Location: Through the plexiglass
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| Posted: Wed Sep 28, 2005 10:22 am Post subject: |
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“I-77 Bridge Over the Valley”
The I-77 bridge always captures my eye like a feather caught in the wind. The colonnade of viaduct columns stagger the imagination. The roadway is more a living being than a inanimate object. This is a bridge that is synthesis of the epic and the mundane.
If one looks closely, they will find that the viaduct columns that support the I-77 bridge have a corrugated texture, like sheet metal almost. The beveled edges of the prefabricated blocks that make the columns interrupt the vertical continuity of the column, and resemble ancient Greek temple columns. But these columns are not of the same scale; at the highest point from the valley floor, the height is around 300 feet. From the ground, they seem impassibly massive, yet the proportions are graceful, lithe and phallic. Masculinity can be detected in their shape; the very foundations are the consummation of man and earth. The columns themselves are erect and more virile than anyone would expect. Next to the bridge several tall advertising signs blast their silly consumerist bromides; in a good wind one can see them sway, as if their supports were more flaccid and impotent compared to the muscular, ivory-white columns of the bridge that holds the roadway still.
From below, the red paint of the underside of the deck accentuates the impression that the bridge is a lifeform. It is a blood-red deep in hue, almost fading into a royal purple. The height of the four I-beams under each of the decks appears at least two and a half stories tall, and the supporting crossmemebers between them are almost gossamer thin, more of the web of a spider than anything else. These crossmembers extend underneath the bridge the entire length, giving a sense of perfect purpose in design for each member, and the blood-red paint conveys power in purpose. On the top of the roadway, a chainlink fence mounted on the k-rails protect the occasional stranded motorist. The highway lamps, mounted on such a high bridge, seem even more delicate and more like the antennae of an ant or insect.
The bridge is the result of the conflict of epic and mundane, thesis and anti-thesis, synthesis. The angle of the bridge upwards speaks of its purpose; heaven-facing, away from Cleveland, and the opposite for the other direction. The angle is such that the trucks out of Cleveland and the valley struggle against their weight and load as if tethered to an anchor. The cars, light and tethered to only air, speed around those trucks that keep pushing beyond what one would epect one to endure. The very frames of the semi cabs contort themselves in supreme effort, and the engine noise is of a lower, deeper and more feral frequency, as if from the gut rather than the throat. On the other side, the traffic simply coasts into Cleveland, effortlessly, soundlessly and without distinction.
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All your bass are belong to us. |
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Prometheus
Mindless Philosopher
Joined: May 06, 2005
Posts: 1506
Location: Through the plexiglass
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| Posted: Wed Sep 28, 2005 10:22 am Post subject: |
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“Coffee Cup”
The handmade coffee cup that my school gave my parents is a very different cup from what the average person encounters in life. The shape of the body itself is of an old-fashioned wood barrel type rather than the modern steel oil-barrel type. The handle is that of a pretzel shape rather than the sleek “C” found so often. The glaze is a warm earth brown-yellow, mottled like a ripe banana on the outside. This is not the average coffee cup.
The cylinder of the cup is wood-barrel shaped in the stead of a simple cylinder. Follow the eyes path from the top, to a gentle, graceful bulge in the center and a near-rounded bottom. The walls of the barrel are thin, almost as thin as porcelain china. The heft is that of tea-set china indeed than a heavy, practical cup. The outside of the barrel is smooth and free of lumps; but the inside betrays its heritage as being handbuilt. Gentle lumps where the hand pressed the soft porcelain clay can be seen and felt in the interior. Where the handle attaches to the body of the cup, the porcelain almost opens up to the handle; it looks as a trampoline does when someone heavy has jumped on it. The handle is not the mundane “C” shape that is echoed to infinite regress, but rather the shape of a pretzel. The diameter of the pretzel is that of a pencil; thin enough to be delicate, but thick enough to reassure one of it’s stability. The handle fits my large hands, even though it is thin, the holes are large enough and spaced well to accommodate even the largest of hands.
The glaze is more than just merely pleasant to look at. The brown-yellow is mottled like a ripe banana that is somewhat more than ready to eat. On the pretzel handle, the glaze has caught and bunches in the nooks, browner than the rest. Inside the cup, the glaze is a porcelain-white stained ivory by time. Through sheer old age, the constant use of coffee has made naked every crackle in the interior glaze. The spider web shoots out from the bottom and fades to nothingness near the very brim. Some crackle is visible on the exterior, but only if the light hits the cup in such a way as to expose it. On the bottom rim, some of that brown-yellow glaze has chipped off; if one follows the rim, another rim, caused by the melting glaze and darker than the inner circle, is obvious. Inside the inner rim are three dots, spaced out as the vertexes of a equilateral triangle. Two of the dots are blueish, and the third is scraped off, by an grinder to remove the sharp edges caused by it. These dots are the proof that this cup sat on triangular kiln furniture in a ceramics kiln.
Painted on the cup, before the glaze was applied is a Millridge Mustang. It is a simple, more logoish deciption of a mustang than an attempt at reality. The line is black, and the horse is the base colour of the clay, porcelain white. The number “1997" is inscribed on the flank of the mustang. Underneath the mustang is the letters “MCHI” (Millridge Center for the Hearing Impaired) in bold black. The height of the letters is about 6/10ths of a inch. On the opposite side, in gold pernament marker, is “Nathan” as written by a calligrapher. When facing the mustang portrait, the handle is on the right side. I can tell it was applied before the glaze because underneath the “M” in MCHI, a tiny spot of white exsists, as if the artist was afraid to apply more for risk of getting some on the “M”. Some glaze (tiny amounts) also was painted into the interior of the horse by accident.
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All your bass are belong to us. |
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pooftis
Deinonychus
Joined: Oct 11, 2005
Posts: 351
Location: San Marcos, CA
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| Posted: Tue Oct 11, 2005 8:55 pm Post subject: |
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Life is like gum on the bottom of new shoes
When you can’t laugh any more
Because you’re so damn sad about asbestos
And the starving homeless in who knows where.
(Why don’t they get jobs?)
Then came the dress…
(You wouldn’t fit into anyway, right?)
The other lady wore to the Cinderella ball
You changed your mind about going to,
So you could watch it on television.
It’s always so much more real on television.
Don’t you hate when the air conditioning kicks on
Just when you got used to your neighbors,
And by the way
What is that smell coming from under their house?
Off the subject,
Have you hugged (seen) your kids today?
I love to swim in pools of apathy
That swirl like fudge on the ice cream sundae of my life,
Wait I don’t know how to swim.
No wonder I’ve been feeling like I’m drowning.
We are dogs on invisible leashes,
Walking where we please until we feel the tug of
(Concession to the majority)
Pull us off the grass.
It really is flat,
The world I mean,
And you are all walking off the edge
But not me, cause I’m invincible
Until I get food poisoning from eating taco bell French fries
And hallucinate fairies who laugh at me
(Because they know their not real).
I’m not real,
I am figment of my imagination I think,
Or maybe I am just having a bad hair day
And I can’t find myself.
You can tell a lot about a person from their hairstyle,
I read it in Cosmo
So it must be true.
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I hate hearing, "you don't seem autistic/aspie". I have a nagging suspicion most people have no idea what autistic or aspie "seem" like in the first place... |
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pooftis
Deinonychus
Joined: Oct 11, 2005
Posts: 351
Location: San Marcos, CA
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| Posted: Tue Oct 11, 2005 8:56 pm Post subject: |
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Sometimes my life swallows me whole
And I feel like sand in someone’s swimsuit…
You know,
The uncomfortable part.
I want to be a rebel
And buy my shoes at the mall like the other rebels,
But I can’t because the mohawk girl keeps glaring at me
So I take my slurpee and leave the store,
f**k it,
Didn’t want their shoes anyway.
Besides, I think I’ll be a republican,
I can hate everyone who isn’t like me.
Actually I think I just hate everyone.
Ahh, it’s lonely at the top,
(Why do they always leave me here?)
My breadcrumbs are gone by now,
I’m sure of it.
I wish I had a little pink room
With a little pink bed
And a little pink rug
And a lock on the door,
(Maybe it should be pink too.)
That way when people dropped in
I could pretend I wasn’t there
Instead of being rude.
They must be masochists
That’s why they keep coming over.
(So I’m really doing a service…)
I keep chewing the ice cubes
Then it occurs to me
Why not just drink water?
Sometimes the obvious answer
Is the last one you think of,
Which is why you stop thinking after that.
Have you ever noticed that
Your brain on drugs looks surprisingly like
An egg in a pan?
There is definitely a deeper meaning there,
But I’m not sure what.
And lastly, why do they call it rebellion
If everyone does it to fit in?
_________________
I hate hearing, "you don't seem autistic/aspie". I have a nagging suspicion most people have no idea what autistic or aspie "seem" like in the first place... |
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ghotistix
Phoenix
Joined: Feb 03, 2005
Posts: 1186
Location: Massachusetts
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| Posted: Thu Oct 13, 2005 10:52 am Post subject: |
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Gah, don't you hate it when a fire takes out your webhost's servers? I know I do...
The showcase on my site will be out of commission for a bit, but feel free to keep posting pieces in this topic if you like. |
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ghotistix
Phoenix
Joined: Feb 03, 2005
Posts: 1186
Location: Massachusetts
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| Posted: Sun Nov 13, 2005 7:53 am Post subject: |
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Back by... *cough*... popular demand!
The glorious writing showcase!
Because the interweb hates me, the fire at my host took out all the writing. But I think I've got everything working again, so feel free to submit (or resubmit)!
Last edited by ghotistix on Thu Mar 02, 2006 11:51 am; edited 2 times in total |
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HuskyInDenial
Snowy Owl
Joined: Dec 04, 2005
Age: 19
Posts: 147
Location: Somewhere Out There...
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| Posted: Mon Dec 05, 2005 4:54 pm Post subject: Tell me something... |
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Tell me something, mate... Do you find it somewhat... redundant... to post something there that I've already posted elsewhere on the internet?
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-just because I scratch doesn't mean I have fleas- |
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ghotistix
Phoenix
Joined: Feb 03, 2005
Posts: 1186
Location: Massachusetts
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| Posted: Tue Dec 06, 2005 6:33 am Post subject: Re: Tell me something... |
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| HuskyInDenial wrote: | | Tell me something, mate... Do you find it somewhat... redundant... to post something there that I've already posted elsewhere on the internet? |
Who what where? |
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HuskyInDenial
Snowy Owl
Joined: Dec 04, 2005
Age: 19
Posts: 147
Location: Somewhere Out There...
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| Posted: Tue Dec 06, 2005 8:19 am Post subject: Re: Tell me something... |
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| ghotistix wrote: |
Who what where? |
uh...
I writing deviantART.
>>
<<
><
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-just because I scratch doesn't mean I have fleas- |
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06xrs
Deinonychus
Joined: Nov 04, 2005
Posts: 361
Location: Alabama
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| Posted: Fri Jan 27, 2006 12:27 pm Post subject: |
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I just posted Chapter 1 of my as yet unfinished novel.
Ducking into my foxhole.
Ready, aim, fire for effect!
INCOMING!
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When you're sitting with a beatiful girl an hour seems like a second. When you're sitting on a hot coal a second seems like an hour. That's relativity.- Einstein
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Asperger's: Vive la difference! |
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neptunevsmars
Phoenix
Joined: Feb 19, 2006
Posts: 724
Location: Melbourne, Australia
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| Posted: Thu Feb 23, 2006 7:31 am Post subject: |
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Hi Ghostistix...another big thank you for setting the site up. 
I've submitted a song lyric which I tried to post in the writing and poetry section here but have not seen it yet. Either it takes a while for them to check stuff or they  didn't like what they read...it's a bit darker and more cynical than the other stuff there.
Bound to happen when you're into Girls Against Boys and NIN  lol
Also note that as a song lyric it does not read with the conventional meter of poetry, you kind of have to imagine something like REM's "The One I Love" - on speed - going on underneath it.
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We need more suckers in our lives
We need more candy
When you want something in life
You got to ask for it |
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maxxosthetaxxos
Emu Egg
Joined: Mar 07, 2006
Posts: 1
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| Posted: Thu Mar 09, 2006 6:53 am Post subject: |
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| hi. I've noticed alot of fellow aspies have such talent on computers. wish I did. lool. and how would I join? |
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