The Darkness of A. Brown's Soul

SWILNews 00 is Black as My Soul

2005-09-09T01:42:04Z

At 12:07, precisely that my heart's beat set,
We Called to Disorder, to silence the [gloomy adjective] rabble
Do they understand that such lugubrious chatter deadens the sound
Within my Mind?
No, for they are pathetic, and understand not my pain. {Shouldn't pain be
capitalized? -Jackie] [Alternatively, you could capitalize 'my', or 'not'.
-c]

A fan appeared, but its soothing winds could not slaughter the fiery pain
within my soul [Too many repetitions of the word 'soul! -m]
A babble of voices, falling unheard of unlistening ears, sounded out the
names.
As usual, mine was ignored.
On Sunday the 28th, I was bound, with ties of obligation and sharp thorns
of Sharples Knives,
To a table, to speak of SWIL and to lure others to this endless nightmare.

Noda, Mendez, Jamison, and Goodfriend volunteered to set the stage, to put
forth a
Facade of joy over our bitter [Bitter! -J] interiors, the darkness of
which is unimaginable.

On Thursday the 1st, we projected light upon the dark screen, [Of LPAC -c]
A tale of pain and woe, and of dark desires unspoken [I speak, of course,
of Luke/Leia -m] [And explosions -c]
[You forgot the stars of death! -c] [They're not angsty enough -m]

Overburdened with worthless words, Jackie seeks to wade through them,
Shedding the excess like tears, the papercuts to her soul overwhelming.
Then shall they be sold,
To reduce men's lives' works' to soulless paper, [They're already sold as
paper! -c]
Unappreciated [Free copy of 'Ogre, Ogre' with every purchase! -c]
And forgotten.

On that Saturday, they struck one another,
To project the pain within their hearts upon one another.

Jamison, for his sacrifice,
And of pain borne of endless hiding,
Will run Saturday Night SWIL.
Last week, Death and Madness held reign,
To give me naught but pain,
Endless and painful

To pretend,
To hope,
To be without the soulless trappings of Modern Man,
We will go to the Ren Faire.
Dave and Sikandra,
Mindful of our hopelessness,
Will drive.
Unless the burden of time
And life
Overweights them in pain and agony.

On October 1, we will validate
Hateful hate, in the killing of
The Misunderstood and Hated Pterodactyl.
Perhaps, if it were to survive, it could
Understand my Pain.
But it will die, alone,
Unloved.

Chance threw its sword of Luck,
and Impaled Alex George upon
The Hand of the Lottery.
For his pains, he was forced to take
A shirt, unwashed,
Torn, and ancient.

The wiki, despite its great works for us,
WIll be discarded,
Like a wilted rose,
Or a crushed heart,
For prettier,
Less tired,
Forms. [Of wiki -c]

Where there will be none,
Jim may drive people to 'Serenity',
To ease the sharp agony
Of daily life.

On Sunday,
We eased bored and hurting minds
With games,
Like Romans,
Watching the death of innocents for their sick amusement.
Blood, red and fresh,
Spilled for the arousal of
Nero, Caesar, and the rest.

Endless noise,
Song, untrained, and without hope,
Filled the tower below the bell,
On Friday,
The day of end, of nightfall,
Of Death.
On Sunday, to trap those
Weak in voice,
To discourage, disparage, and
Stab with sharp Rebukes,
The songs were more difficult,
Like living in an uncaring world.
Of pain.

At PACES,
A call for words, unbidden,
Exposed,
To have your heart set out
And cruelly impaled [Does PACES actually stand for something? -c][Can we
call it Lang PACES? -J] [We could call it LangPAC for short-c]

Then a review,
Of the years most painful and cutting,
Where daily was my pain mocked and Belittled.
A "party", where
Hearts' pain will be dulled with bitter tang,
And Lonely minds forgotten.

Lauren G, whose pain is no greater than my own,
Seeks expression,
Through many arts and crafts.
But why should I take her offer,
And use these crafts,
When all art I make would be misunderstood,
Underappreciated,
Like the depths of my pain and despair?

Seeking to label those with no voice,
SWIL gave to Emmanuelle a "Title".
They will call her Harbringer of Cute,
As her coming marks
An attempt to silence our pain
Through numbing smiles.

I, too, was named,
Scion of the Shubich Dynasty,
As if the honor alone
Could combat the endless sorrow
I feel.

i want a cookie

2005-03-21T22:28:55Z

Maybe a chocolately cookie with white chocolate chips.

appending_goth @ 2005-03-19T11:19:00

2005-03-19T16:20:57Z

I am losing everything I know. I thought I had determined the design; now I realize that life is a long lie.

I need saving.

appending_goth @ 2005-03-17T22:46:00

2005-03-18T03:46:45Z

You're Colombia!

You do a lot of drugs, and these have kind of distorted your view of
reality, to the point that everyone looks like an enemy. You keep trying to restore
order over your schizophrenic world view, but you don't even know which goal is your own
and which is someone else's. You're pretty sure someone needs to be punished for all
this, but who that is changes all the time. Things would be a lot better for you if
you switched to coffee, or even to decaf, but all this money would be hard to give up.

Take
the Country Quiz at the Blue Pyramid

Somehow, this is just more depressing...

A Sad Spring Break

2005-03-11T23:23:26Z

I am far removed from those who would offer me succour; I am left to drift in the wasteland of my own imagination.

When, oh when, shall I again be reunited with those who understand me, who see my darkness and my pain?

Never. Never shall I know such peace, for it exists not in this world, nor any other.

Rose and Chocolates of Despair

2005-02-14T03:09:10Z

True romance is indeed the embrace of violence and death, though such happiness is beyond those of us whose hearts have long since died for want of our hearts' desires.

Can I claim such pain without a broken heart, or is the pain enough to suggest to me the suffering those with shattered souls can bear?

I don't know, as I know nothing.

My pain is eternal.

I know I can hope for no more than a swift death, the painless embrace of that silver-winged angel who haunts my dreams, but heart falls always for dreams of more.

Loathsome heart and loathsome day; I will allow my despair to embrace me, and release the darkness chained by my lethargy. You cannot bind such pain.

I suffer in quiet silence.

Unloved.

Thrice-scorned.

Alone.

The Music Of The Night

2005-01-24T19:27:21Z

Beautiful pain encircles my heart — it is as though a black rose were circled 'round it whose thorny stem brought forth brilliant red drops that fell upon the midnight petals. I have heard the desperate beauty of the serenade, bestowed — in an instance of seemingly mocking improbability — upon me. For but a moment it was as though the sublime hopelessness of my world was granted an accompaniment, and my own pain sang in harmony with what sounded for all the world like a small (black!) alley-cat crying and breathing its last, its own tortured soul disappearing into the beyond in the one small act of mercy it would ever receive.

What becomes of cats, when they expire? Do they go to another, yet more hopeless, hell, seeing only that the heaven that might have been promised them, had anyone cared enough to make such promises, was but a lie? Or does their very catness dissolve entirely into the winds, like so much dust, leaving only fast-fading memories and uneaten sardines?

Oh! Such reflections are too much to bear! I retreat to the dull torment of the quotidian, and to the hope that the crystalline beauty of song will leave me at last in peace, for its power overwhelms me.

May you, too, escape the unsparing death-cry of the sirens,
appending_goth

Reflections in My Tears

2005-01-13T01:52:17Z

The death of my bitter solitude has brought me to an edge of unwrought depression. I don't intend to burden you with the details of my world of indescribable pain, but to briefen the description, those who expect some recompensense for bringing me into this world have very nearly forced me to interact with them over the course of the past month. They, who cannot understand the pain that is my near-constant companion, have imprisoned me in their socionormative ideals, ensraring me in their illusory curtain of life.

Why won't they leave me to my poetry? To my desparation? To my pain?

I cannot bear a burden of more pain, but to mark the passage of days, I have torn a volume of my most treasured works, adding greater weight to my bleeding soul. Three days, and then I can return to a place beyond their reach, to the dragging despair back at school.

May your heart burn with the pain of my own,
appending_goth

When the Reflections of Darkness Cause More Sharp Painful Agony

2004-12-07T04:31:11Z

Ask me not why I shed these tears,
without such voice to voice my payne.
For with each breath pain spears my soul
For light unreflected in the darkness in my pain-filled soul
And casual touch-undirected to my unworthy spirit.
Does this pain cut me with sharp agony,
or bring a new depth of dark to my heart?
It shall, and misery, new and bitter,
will give new rise to the meaning of aginy.
Do not expect an end to suffering,
Until life itself comes to its bitter denouement.

Napkin Poetry

2004-12-06T22:24:36Z

At lunch today, the ridiculousness of my own existence struck me, and I was compelled to set it down on a napkin so that it could be immortalized for all eternity.

Oh, why does the darkness of my woe
Drip down as ink from my bleeding wounds
As a fallon sparrow, whose hopes once so high
Have been slain by life's cruel blades
O dark miasma of sorrowful cries!
Staunch the beleding heart from fatal cuts
And let one's vision fade to eternal darkness.