Immortalized

Thinking about mortality and the love of creating.

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Often conflicted and quite difficult to please, a complicated pursuit to remain busy and create overtakes. It’s aimless, but fueled by the imagination of a mind never silent. Thoughts without sleep. A perpetual anxiety holds on the brink of psychological collapse. Everlasting depression lingers in the background with awareness of mortality and the shortness of time. All the things wanted but only few will unfold before the red curtain drops, the lights shut off and the stage plunges to darkness. Countless tail-chases to the priceless and of meaning. Naming it purpose. Hoping it doesn’t come across as…

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String A Longs

We don't learn

We spin and turn while stomachs churn

And ache and burn

Riddled and unanswered

Lazy claiming hands hurt

Phased by changing landscapes

In the dark holding no lanterns

Facing our last takes

Chasing past mistakes

Deep breaths and smiles faked

Refusing to raise the stakes

Hearts too scared to break

Wont pierce through fear

Yet blood thirsty and fierce

Cowards trembling and biting

The same cowards never found fighting

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New Ideas: Video Game Development

Jack writes of new creative ventures to pursue.

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For several years I’ve been dabbling in game development. Learning the annoying ins and outs of game design and balancing. It’s definitely one of the most creative activities I’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing and taking part in. It is also definitely one of the more difficult things I’ve attempted. It’s right up there with advanced arts like Novel Writing and Portrait Painting. The intricate details that formulate a single fraction of the bigger picture are absurdly complex. Similar to novel writing, if a single piece of the puzzle no longer works the entire bigger picture has the potential to collapse. One loose thread can unravel the entire stitch work.

Some of the more trying times I’ve encountered have arrived with game updates. Each new addition to the game can break all the other parts. Nothing can simply be forced in or added. Incorporation is the correct term. All new features must be carefully molded to fit the existing project like they were there from the start. Frustrations have been faced on multiple occasions do to this. I’m sure had I been someone else I would have quit as these moments came forward. Luckily, I’m a bit of a masochist and push…

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Sick Temper

I'm broken. I've chosen to work with it. Certain its hopeless.  Its slow fizzing. Not sure when I might pop. But for sure something'll get me to blow my top. Head's hot. And they tell me I'm cold. This fever has me sweating. I call it addiction to accomplishment,  challenge and work. Others label it being a narcissistic snark jerk. I'm just impatient with the lazy. Call me crazy.

Tempered. Boiling cold. I'm striding forward on this road and tearing down whatever forest stands in my way.

Struggle and success are how I play.

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Chirping Confused

Electronics broadcasting from our pockets, handing us opinions and beliefs. Critical thinking and self reflection is a thing of the past. Media slavery is the new wave. The new order.

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Pocket mirrors. Clever image. Surfing while catching waves. Searching for shelter. For cover. Dodging rays. Pixel boxes with dark displays. Projected normality. Morality is stray.

Minds stranded far away. Used to pay for electric food. To feed on the endless stream. Turned flood, we’re dragged and taken. Awaken washed up together on a beach with cardboard oceans and salt for sand.

Confused and fragmented we obey chirping Bluejay. Let them lead us. Seed us to repeat like parrots misunderstanding freedom. Thinking the caged bird sings ‘cause joy. Meanwhile…

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Chasing Fantasies

Chasing Fantasies

Stop making up excuses and deceiving yourself with lame reasons why you don’t find time to do the things you want to do (But somehow still find time for Netflix binging, video games or parties) and get to fulfilling your dreams before your on the other end of your life and its too late.

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Life as a snake. Chip away skin not yet shed. Early bird gets the worm. Earlier slither gets the feather. Make it squirm. Life gets better. Fighting is how to learn.
Bad weather static under rain clouds. Can’t fly when the wind shouts. Wait for lightning to ground them down. Whining. Plotting. Sounds in the dark. Alarm. Harming. The trick is the charm.
Like Ted for lunch. Then dead. The necromancer draining corpses like old cancer.
Farming skill points. No cheat codes. Break the game. No cheap modes. Rank to hard. Try harder. Craft the scars. Ain’t skipping scenes. Gonna figure out what it all means.
No walks through parks or skips through fields. Just sprints with swords and shields. Down the middle where the…

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Just Do It

Grind. Grind away. Until it numbs your mind every day.

Stick to the plan and it'll give way to the hopes and dreams you wish will take play.

Its a struggle but ease is worth nothing. Feeling like you've worked your way out of trouble is what leads to feeling pleased.

Work hard. Enjoy the fight. Its not about winning. Its about finding peace.

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Keep Fighting

Hidden in the dark a whisper calls on a spark to drag the dreamers far
Off shore to the void, course of everlasting noise, poised in lasting joy
Angered echoes try to detract, destroy, that’s exactly the point
To push through reveals what one is meant to do, who’s made their choice
They’ll try to stop the truth, distractions to avoid
The powers will only shower the hours with creative towers if one endures the callous
Howls like wolves, keep chasing the meal, effort turning the fiction to real
Lessons lessen to the voices stuck stressing, investing in second guessing

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Write Me

I'm not deep,  I'm shallow

Just a creep,  quite hollow

But speak what I reap

It may seem like I keep the depths brief and under my breath

Its all from the chest,  whether weak or from a shot up vest its me

Colorful or bleak

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Structural Integrity at Zero

With logic tossed out the window and reasoning a thing of the past, the outrage culture takes center stage in our media run society. This is a short ranty poem on the subject.

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Guilty conscious ringing off alarms in the darkness. It’s haunting
Daunting the shifty nonsense. Swinging pendulums lost in the crossroads
Demon deals hidden by the cornfields. The chase of success is too real
Flaunting the wrong things ‘till the swan sings
It’s been too long since cashing that check from reality. It’s caustic
A cost that won’t stick. Caused by old tricks. Stone moss that grows thick
Structural failure, neglect, the behavior
Rejected by the savior, reasoning. Calculating to slave work
Seasoning the flavor of…

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The Mythical Wall of Blocks

A tale of warriors on adventures and worries scared to venture.

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There isn’t always a clear path when staring at a journey. Excuses are unacceptable. Walls are no reason. Spilling the ink is the only truth. Yet, warm masks cry reason.
Without aim or direction an image forms itself. Narratives aren’t born, they’re crafted from struggles. Pointless clicks and scribbles grab hold of the ether and drag down the fantasies pleasantly floating about. Shapeless as they may be alone, collections get named. Ink formed into abstract ideas discussing themselves.
Meanwhile cosplay myths and tales of pens run dry strike fear into the hearts of warriors beginning their path. Religions designed to confuse. Fictions more crippling to the wanderer than the stories eager for design.
But the true explorers don’t fall victim. They travel, even with the fear deep…

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The Great War

The great war begins and for those unaware of what’s really going on, it’s not more than confusing chaos and unexplained horrors left and right.

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Black leafless trees as far as the eye can see. Like a forest fire ravaged existence itself. Red skies plague a dark aura over all that is left. Dark daylight is as bright as a moment gets. The dirt beneath my boots crumbles like glass crackling under my weight. The great war merely strolled through here. In less than a week the entire state fell. The bunker managed to keep us safe in the meantime. There’s nothing but the aching screams echoing through the air left lingering. Entire buildings up and vanished into the chaos.

My grandmother always said the rapture would arrive without warning. It would just be here one day. And it seems that’s what took place.

One moment I’m at my first day at the office unpacking my things and getting settled in to the desk of a tragedy passed. The next moment my window view witnesses what I can only described as giant winged people attacking a tiny record store across the street. Within seconds their numbers are in the hundreds, then thousands. They’re popping…

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Lack of Belonging

Since a child I’ve had great difficulty understanding the emotions of others. Enigmatic, the ups and downs of the average person. Looking back, who I misunderstood the most was my older brother. Our interests drastically different our entire lives. I’d constantly accuse him of fake laughing. The things he found amusing seemed impossible in my eyes as something that could even come across as entertaining. I figured he was either humoring me or others when laughing or chuckling and I’d get confrontational and furious. I’d accuse him of faking the amusement. Tell him it wasn’t necessary. I was just ignorant of the difference in interests. I was ignorant to why it amused him, but he was amused.

To this day, when someone raises their voice or speaks in an aggressive tone I’m not aware whether they’re angry or simply loud. Gauging what people feel is confounding beyond further expression. I don’t know how to approach some. I don’t know what angers or saddens…

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Schizo Youth

Emotionally abusive parents of schizophrenic children should be sterilized.

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Draped of silhouettes and contorted figures a dim light barely saves the room from the void. Whispers, maddened by guilt claw at strands of sanity to shred and devour. Fetus on the sheets tightly squeezes its life away, hoping the malicious tones drain out. Louder they get when resisted. Sense of self is ever more vague. Creeping away without hope of return if lost. Angry voices across the door weaken the spirit and give way to the whimpering soul that lay broken while innocent. Confused of cause and with no reason to justify loathe. A burning hatred grows for the sun and the shelter. Welcoming becomes the fade across the shadows with no faces. Simplistic the illusion of nothing. Peacefully resting on the other side of action. Long enough assures bravery for cowardice and silence be witness to the collapsed towers of rage and wrath. Forgotten or at least desired to be the whither phase to the ether. And the river of tears run streams of screams and intention.

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Rage Fueled Blindness

We all have demons we struggle with. Fear of them taking control. And sometimes they do. And sometimes it feels good after we’re done with our fear.

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Pained finger. Cracks and snaps. Deep breaths to get over it. Get it over with. Nausea at the pit of my stomach. Monstrous transformation I’ve undergone. Malice I begun with. Could use a gun, but the pop would make it too real. I don’t want to run. Craving the numbness.
Tight grip, I squeeze. Thought bubbles surface. Words in silence. Boiling water hides the violence. Struggles to keep inside. Hopes to hide. Hopes to die. Tears roll down red eyes. Lingering moments that don’t go by. Branded images. Back of the mind. Persistent twists of liquid mist obscuring things. Rage filled. Caged and ill. Killed will power. Standing still, towers, tall build. Showers of blood ripple. Screaming “enough.” Chilled spine. Raised hairs. Tunnel vision. Blinded sight. Regrets but no want to fight. Sensations that feel right to relieve the pint up aggression. Repression released in the middle of…

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Staying Alive IV

Survival and starvation breed insanity in the minds of the weak willed.
The weak don’t last long.
Here’s Alex.

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The voices scramble in my head. Fighting. Striking all the cords. Lighting sparking up my neurons. Causing pain. So on. And so on.

The scent of sulfur squeezes in under the crack of the door. Seductive. Alluring. It could all be over if I give in. A doorknob away.

Pitch black footsteps on the other side. Some drag. Others pace.

A scent which promotes a familiar taste. Iron. Strong. It lingers in this place.

Greed lead the curious cat to Death’s door. Whether or not I want to remain here anymore is no longer a choice I get to make. Best case scenario is to endure.

It’s been days and the daze is setting in. Not many ways this could end. I’ve already debated running outside. And I hate it, knowing I might die. But there’s no other way to…

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High Horse

Staying clean is easy if your mind is powerful enough to fend off the crave for vices. It’s simply odd feeling. Once you’ve adjusted to some form of reality, any alteration is the new high. Having been stoned for so long rocked, but I didn’t expect such a splash once I settled on the other side. I feel high being over it. Ironically, I stopped standing for shit. Living life dirty just to wash it off eventually. And then I look back and wonder, what was the point of the ride if I don’t enjoy long trips. Claiming to go on a journey and finding myself in the same place. Kept thinking there was no way out. But I won’t give in. It’s time to get high off of being sober. I keep getting older and I don’t want me life to end before the story begins. Too much to do, not enough time to spend.

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