I stand upon a glass-topped lake

obscured by grayscale fog

as February's sun awakes

to usher in the dawn.

A fissure snaps my crystal view-

streaks white across the ink-

then branches outward, lines askew,

unsound; I'm on the brink.

Green Mountains' muffled sighs seep in

and penetrate my shroud

as feeble rays dilute the dinge

to warm up snowy grounds.

A fissure snaps my crystal view-

streaks white across the ink-

then branches outward, lines askew,

unsound; I'm on the brink.

Suspended fleetingly in space

between the void and home,

I must decide to sink or face

these flaws to reach the stones.

I fondly bid the cracks adieu,

retreating from the brink,

as icy water froths and spews

between the deadly chinks.

Adieu, foul brink...

and deadly chinks.

Demons can take many forms.

They can take the form of sharp tongues that lash at you, cutting deeper with words than one could with a knife.

They can take the form of a reflection in the mirror that constantly whispers in your ear your worst mistakes, your deepest fears and your worst failures.

They can take the form of a scornful voice in your head, the one that strips you bare to your core and laughs at you, repeating ceaselessly that you will never be enough.

They can take the form of a cloud constantly hanging over you, leaving you in darkness and taunting you with the images of others, those with no clouds above them, laughing effortlessly in the light.

You know demons in all their forms.

And yet, you have never seen the form of an angel.

So you pray to a god, one you struggle to and barely believe in, for an angel.

For an angel who can shed light on the darkness of your mind; one who can help cast your demons away.

Those prayers go unanswered.

* * * * * * * * * *

Her voice is kind.

Tired of waiting for angels, for the first time in your life, you decide to trust someone. A friend.

It’s not easy.

Because your demons are what shapes you. Giving the key to your hell to anyone else is terrifying, to show them the real, shriveled, damaged version of you, the one which you have hidden behind a mask for so long.

You tell her everything.

About all your demons, in all their myriad forms.

She listens. She understands.

She talks. She helps.

She shows you that your demons are not as big as you thought they were, she makes you understand that the everyone else too carries their demons in their heads.

That you’re not alone; that you’re not the only one afflicted with them.

That your demons have grown in the darkness of your mind, fed by your own fear, your insecurities.

She talks about herself, about her own demons.

She puts herself down, refusing to accept the version of her that you see; a gentle, kind-hearted, generous soul, who had made mistakes but who had become so much more because of them.

You try to show her that she is as close to perfection as anything under the sky could ever be.

That she is perfect not because she is not flawed, but because those flaws have made her even stronger, better, more understanding, kinder.

She refuses to accept it but you have finally found what you had been looking for.

You smile.

Your prayers have finally been answered.

* * * * * * * * * *

Angels are ethereal beings of beauty.

They are magnificent, with perfection beyond what the human mind can comprehend.

Or at least so, you thought.

Because you only imagined angels in their heavenly form.

But angels also exist in earthly form, they walk among us.

In their earthly form, an angel can take the form of a friend, a kind voice, a generous heart and a beautiful, understanding smile.

So now you no longer fear your demons as you once did.

Because you now know the forms of both demons and angels, not demons alone.

You know that angels exist, that you have been blessed with their light.

With angels by your side, your demons are no longer as formidable as they once were.

You now have faith in angels.

(Dedicated to the angel who I am blessed and fortunate to call my friend, who helps me fight my demons day after day. Thank you.)

Don't try to lie

You see,

It's all in the eyes.

Desperation and need,

Before it takes you to your knees

Anger and lust

Try and hide it if you must

Obedience and pain,

Don't pretend you're tame.

Hunger and thirst,

I even see which one came first

Sting and betrayal,

Let me help the hurt set and sail

Jealousy and greed,

I see it as easily as you bleed

Love and desire,

Baby I can see the fire

You try to protect yourself with lies.

But you see,

It's all in the eyes.

I’m gonna do something stupid,

that will kill me,

and you are going to follow suit,

or I will kill you.

Sound familiar?

This is how society is goddy messed up, cousin.

But we accept it,

so hooray to us cowards!

why are we so low class?

and how are we able to live with ourselves?

and when did we become like this?

and what do we do every single day of our lives?

who are we in the first place?

where are we gonna end up like this?

This is the horror story,

called

“LIFE”,

the kind,

where the hero

dies

in

the

end

I mean,

duh,

at the end of life,

is,

death.

lucid dreams

in ephemeral night

luminous visions

fading in twilight

it’s all a stage

with balletic grace

fake danseur nobles

adorning masks on face

pull back the curtain

rouse from sleep

you’ll soon divine

the dance runs deep

lucid dreams

in the glimmering

night

the world’s a stage

pirouetting

in daylight.

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This anonymous OP describes themselves as introverted, compassionate, and creaetive. Since a recent surgery, there have been neuroligical issues coming to light. What they can only refer to now as 'episodes' have been occurring. Blanking out, heavy dissociation, time loss, and memory loss.

Because OP has a Genetic disposition for ADD, ADHD, and Seizures, their doctors are currently looking into these as a means of diagnosis. The latest theory is Focal Seizures; which are caused by residual electric energy building up in a localized area of the brain. Although it is not a full diagnosis, they are taking medication, and awaiting their next doctors appointment.

Here is where OP's sense of fear comes in. They aspire to animate and are most afraid that they must forfeit this passion without choice. As their symptoms worsen, they search for answers on how to cope.

NSFW

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For me; youth, almost in its entirely, very much felt like a fugue state, looking back on it. Somewhere near the end of my adolescence everything in my mind sort of spiked; an emotional/psychological revelation if you will.

It was a very intense experience which I often used substances to quell. But that didn’t slow things down. With an unusually high tolerance to most things and a pre-existing fear of losing control of myself, 99% of it was cannibis.

There was so much happening in my head; and all of it perfectly irrational- but also, in a way, aligning with the orations of gurus and mystics across the globe. aligning with the things my friends would talk about after their 3 day acid trips.

Sooner or later I came to realize that this ‘epiphany’ or spontaneous intelligence I might have had wasn’t anything I decided to work for, and It wasn’t exactly prayed for either.

I didn’t understand it but I understood everything else...

At least... I finally understood how my reality was in contrast with the foundations of truth- and began stripping away the layers I stacked and what I saw underneath demanded to be written and spread to the world.

So that was my goal - I set out to write something. Anything, a script, a novel, a biography, i wasn’t sure, but I needed to start writing.

That was 11 years ago - and I have no published works. Sure lots and lots of writing was done, but never published.

A few years, a few doctors, and a few prescriptions after this initial spike, there was a great decline- a massive depression.

The greater point here is that after another year, I spiked again. At some point the meds were useless, cannabis too, but there were worse side affects this time around. manic states, short temper, pacing, lost in thought, extreme anxiety, not eating, sleeping, not caring for myself at all; but my brain is exploding again with thoughts and ideas and nonsense begging to be organized and written.

Before anything gets organized - the spike drops again. Back into depression; and with still worse side effects. Im ending up in the psych ward more often. taking 4 or 5 different medications at a time. its almost impossible to keep a job, maintain contact with people, there was suddenly so much unwarranted anguish - but, my life is not bad dude. I’m in the thicc boi nation, ya boi don’t starve for nothin.

All my brain knew was that it has to figure out why I feel so horrible, so it would just come up with ideas on its own because there was perhaps a greater fear of the unknown. So like, I’d come into a bout of mental turmoil and my brain will think about why - deciding something like; “Oh that one time in 4th grade when had to fart during silent study and I tried to cough to cover it but the cough ended up delaying the fart so basically I got everyone’s attention, and then farted --- that MUST be why I’m feeling so ashamed and embarrassed right now” - complete nonsense.

I might not have realized it then, and we’re only a couple years within that 11 year period - but there was a pattern emerging. What I believed was ‘the spirits granting me eternal wisdom from beyond the physical realm’ was really my brain just doin some weird chemical shit... and If I wasn’t so loose with my understanding of reality, I might have caught it sooner.

Well, [OP] - why bother saying all this? Because I still have no Idea whats wrong. Every doctor i’ve seen in the last 11 years has had something different to say about whats going on. Their treatment and medication usually focuses on emotional maintenance and promoting physical self-care.

Not a single doctor has ever considered maybe there is something physical going on, or that the concoction of medication I’ve been ingesting was the worst possible thing - and that’s where I am today concerning what I actually know about whats wrong with me. Waiting to see more doctors.

Over the 11 years, I have experienced these spikes, at least 4 or 5 times a year, and when I look at the past year, that has perhaps tripled. I can go through a couple of spikes in a week; complete manic episode, out of control, anger, rage, paranoia - then through no will or effort, suddenly depressed, sleeping 16 hours at a time, no will to move or eat or practice hobbies. Classic Bipolar stuff, classic major depressive disorder stuff, classic borderline personality disorder, could be a very mild schizophrenic episodes, WHO KNOWS MAN, all I know is no 2 doctors said the same thing.

So now I sit here, with all this written work that I physically and mentally no longer have the energy for.

I’ve weened myself off all of their prescriptions (with direct supervision) and have chosen to microdose with cannabis - because there is currently no other effective way to eat without nausea, to sleep without tossing for 4 out of the 8 hours, to work on something without going feral at every obstacle, to have a conversation without forgetting everything that was said afterwards - - -

Anyway - the whole point of this unneccessarily long preamble;

--I’m losing my speech motor skills; stuttering stammering, often having to start over from the beginning of a thought to say it correctly.

--My balance is way off- I almost had to learn how to dance so my muscle memory will turn my feet and shift my weight when it feels like its falling.

--Depth perception, awareness of surroundings; if the furniture in my house ever moved and always stayed in the same place, I would still stub my toe on it every day.

--My memories have been difficult to recall, and some memories aren’t even trustworthy; I will have to have a conversation with someone twice because I was sure they said something else.

--My memories of childhood as well are largely different then my parents memories. You could say that’s pretty normal, and the strongest of those memories is from a very early trauma, so those details are up for question too.

--Oh and my brain has also decided, among other things, the importance of even storing certain memories at all; how much of a dope do I look like trying to tell you what I had for breakfast just before I arrived at work for the day. The look on my face must be equivalent to a molecular biologist about to crack the gene code of an extraterrestrial entity.

Apologies for being verbose. If you couldn’t tell, I still very much enjoy writing, but I’ve given up on making it into anything. My hands work well, and my brain has no trouble forming written sentences, my penmanship has not suffered either.

So my greater concern now is my speech. I can tell I’m losing it more and more and I have no way of knowing why or how to slow it down, neither do the doctors- they just want to give me more meds. A LOT more, but I’m dead weight on it; good luck getting me through an 8 hour work day with 1500mg of that nonsense coursing through my body.

So I’m losing my speech, I’m losing my memories - and my brain decided to have a little spike when I thought of all these things happening, when I pondered the emerging pattern in my physical health.

And to I started recording the things I write with my voice. Now the things I write are recorded; the thoughts I lose will be floating between my silly jokes and hobby discussions, all officially lost within the infinite ethernet.

The voice I know now will be available for me to hear for years to come, long after I lose it for good. The memories of my past will be there when I don’t carry them with me anymore.

This is the first time I’ve ever worked so hard on something and enjoyed doing it so much, and its becoming more than I ever could have hoped for with just writing---

And everyday when I put my face to the microphone, I’m giving a big Fuck You to the universe. and it feels so good.

I decided to lean into this; granted it takes HOURS to edit all of the slurring and stammering words, and HOURS more to organize what to say in order to actually start and complete an idea succinctly.

But for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m in control. I feel like I’m producing something, really creating something. For the first time I don’t feel like everything I ever worked on up to this point was for naught.

Forgot to mention one thing - - - i read a study once about anxiety, depression, that made a lot of sense about my physical symptoms.

The mental stress any one person can go through is essentially harmful to the brain - so consider someone who has spent more waking time in states of stress and anxiety than most others - certain parts of my frontal lobe are being affected - synapses are weakening due to the stress, hence the trouble speaking/balancing- this is where the internal maintenance comes in.

What ever it could be that’s wrong - it will never mean you can’t be involved in creating something. You just have to know it really doesn’t matter how we lose it- one day its gone.

And If you're worried about your current skill level? - Check out any one of hundreds of the terribly animated shows that make it to adult swim/cartoon network. 12 oz mouse? LOL LOL LOL

Even with the time and effort it takes to make Japanese animation - there are still wildly successful animations that are just shite comparatively - crayon shin-chan lol

I had a conversation with a game dev who had to do the art all on his own - as a whole, it looks amazing, but then he explains he has zero art ability and youre like, yea it does look awful if formality really mattered - but it doesn’t - art comes in all forms.

Whatever stage your in, decide your ready to create, and you improve along the way.

Compare spongebob season one to now. compare adventure time season one to last season. even a live action show that goes on for years gets better as the seasons go on - improved camera & sound equipment, new writers, more famous co-actors, etc

So- screw it. It’s all going to get taken away at some point. whether its 10 years from now, or 60 years from now. Flip the universe the bird, defy nature; draw your god damn heart out.

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This post comes from and anonymous message board. Our OP tells about his desire for self improvement. He refers to his social and intellectual skills as lacking, and his charisma even worse. He explains that his peers treat him with disingenuine politeless, and never quite connect with him, and he often feels incompetant and uncool as a result. Here was our response.

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People eventually come to understand their own interests enough to sound intelligent and captivate their audience. Charisma is momentary, and just as insecurity, exists within all people in differing degrees. But a lot of it comes down to having interests, having the will to learn about new things.

The matter of intelligence, in the same way, is too broad of a spectrum to pinpoint anymore - there are 10,000 different facets of intelligence.

I’ve let many of my own mental faculties atrophy over time but certain things like social psychology, writing/poetry/prose, eastern cultures, metaphysical studies - all things that I can talk a good deal about in a conversation and maybe sound intelligent in moderation, but overall I forget more than I ever learn about something.

To take it a little deeper, there is no boundary to your intelligence- you’re connected to the network like the rest of us, your just using a bad web browser---

All that means is a little reprogramming. Consider thinning the gap between what you consider to be intelligent or not. It’s easy to get wrapped up in the culture you’re in and forget you are one of the more sophisticated life form in the known universe.

Consider how thin that gap is for others too; for the people you think are cool and smart. Any one should wear a badge of honor if they’re a biochemist or a master pianist, but they should never be afraid to admit that they can’t drive stick shift, or they always get spaghetti sauce on their shirt, or they haven’t been able to keep a relationship for more that a few months...

Have you watched that show Sherlock with actor Butternut CrinkleFries? One of the best things about the show is that this guy has the highest IQ of any room he walks in but his interpersonal skills are atrocious, moronic even.

Furthermore I don’t believe we’re entirely in control of who is drawn to us - most of the people in my life come and go whether they have interest in me or not. Most of them just give me an experience to learn from.

But this all sort of connects together where, learning new things and having a catalog of subjects to roll through will help both your intelligence and charisma - establishing the things you enjoy learning as personal interests and you’ll come to find many people who share it with you--- and a lot of them will be dumb as heck, or super smart, but mostly just happy to share their joy.

Furthermore, self improvement is a lifetime, day by day, game. if you stop, your actually moving backwards. Self improvement is a practice, and has 10,000 facets, just like intelligence.

The practice must be tended to like a garden. You don’t have to keep trying to plant what doesn’t take root. If the bugs keep eating away at your fruit, find a safe repellent. If there’s no nutrition in the soil then you need to dig around through some bullshit. And if your fruit comes out bad, so what, the earth recycles itself.

Oh, one last thing--- someone making you feel uncool or incompetent? cause that’s some of the most incompetent, uncool shit I’ve ever heard in my life - I don’t care if the dude went to MIT, or if he has Taylor Swifts phone number, or if he invented a time machine --- If you’re trying to make people feel stupid or embarrassed or just generally less than what they are, you forfeit all your earned respect and intelligence.

Just a quick question : does anyone know if writes posted on here are considered published pieces ?

I was thinking of entering a competition but they don’t want published work, including online, but personal blogs are okay ....it seems Prose is a middle ground of sorts....so just wondering if anyone has had any experience with this ? Thanks !

There's a time for death

and for rebirth

a time for sadness

and for mirth

as one story ends

one is retold

I will slay the dragon

to get the gold

I will burn my world

and then rebuild

I will commit the sin

and atone the guilt

I'm willing to break

and be made anew

I will crawl through hell

just to get to you

you're my poison

and the antidote

you're the reason I sink

and the reason

......I float