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Ice-Pick Lodge forums • Mental ramblings of a super imposed alter ego.
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PostPosted: 25 Sep 2009, 15:45 
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In Turgor!
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Aka, a Short Story by Throdax.

"The static noise grew louder as the distance closed in. In a blink of an eye the superseded information highway was congested by some amorphous entity willing to bypass the conventional barrier through up by mortal man.

A buzz in the horizon, a cascade of swirling ramblings descended with the authority to silence all noise and the static grew. Alice Jumpsun was half sleep, half awake, similar to a self induced comatose state in which her alter ego was projected to the bleakness of this small room. Black, emptiness, despair, solitude were all invoked in seamless random incoherent toughs. She could barely breath, asphyxiating under the pressure of the thick oxygen less air. No doors, no windows, only static in the background.

Two man were talking in the middle of all that static noise.

-Do you believe in god?
More static.
-I am God....
-I don't believe you.
Even more static.
-I can show you...
Loud static.
-Do they know?

The pressure in Alice head was exuberant. Some kind of morbid ecstasy was passing trough her vain. Pulsating, twisting, swelling, all is red, all is dark and yet the pain was alive as malignant incarnation of a dethroned spirit as if a course line of imagination had ruptured the conventional boundaries of reality which sustain society.

But I like the pain, she though, it is feeding me, the repulsive vampire that festers in my brain, lurking, observing my every move, stealing my thoughts, ravaging, devouring my mind!


Alice woke up in a jolt. She was still in the 25th floor of her Moscow apartment. It was dawning and she had to go to work. After a quick shower the attached her Kevlar armour and holster her Scarab side pistol, it was another day working for the mercenary corp called Taskforce, where her sister, Anat Toris, resided at the highest rank of agents. Blood and killing were part of a mercenary day as a merciless butcher in the slaughter house and yet she hadn't seen much as a grunt in the corporation, still she couldn't shake the feeling, this morning, that someone or something was inside her mind."


(Yes I'm bored at work)


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PostPosted: 25 Sep 2009, 16:07 
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In Turgor!
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"Deranged Psychotics"

Feeling the devoid abyss of the soul, I reach out for the starts where incarnations of angels sing my demise. My breath hurts in a claustrophobic cacophony of madly desires. I want to kill them and let their blood swell up the rivers of blood at my feet, yet I'm the one who is dying, alone, in the sterile numbness that affects my mind.

I see visions of despair being invoked by altruist Gods in the sea of lunacy. All is dead and all is dying and I stand in the middle of the puddle of putrid hate. There I am none, and none is void, yet the void is nothing, and in the end the nothing is all. I am all.

I see those angels giggling at my demise. I reach them and I fail, I fall down forever in the swirling abyss of the madness that invades my conciousness.

In despair I die, in hate I live.


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PostPosted: 25 Sep 2009, 16:48 
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Старый Добрый Эль
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Nice!

Somehow, I get the feeling that these sound a bit more like screenplays, than actual stories.
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How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;

---- Alexander Pope


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PostPosted: 25 Sep 2009, 16:56 
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Perhaps. :)

I see them as coherent and incoherent thoughts pieced up together in a logical form. :)


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PostPosted: 28 Sep 2009, 22:05 
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Pretty gloomy pieces for a person just bored at work. Especially the second one. It's close to poetry. I liked both though. The styles are very different. the first is sciencefictional, the second...mm, can't recall reading anything like that in English but it does remind me the verse of one famous Russian punk-poet.

If boredom at work occurs again continue your verbal exercise, Throdax :)


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PostPosted: 01 Oct 2009, 11:41 
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Throdax is the new Pessoa :lol:


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PostPosted: 01 Oct 2009, 11:42 
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Throdax is the new Pessoa :lol:

:shock:

I do lack the absinthe though. :twisted:


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PostPosted: 01 Oct 2009, 16:04 
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Not a problem, I'm sure our good friend LxR can provide you with a few crates of the stuff :twisted: :mrgreen:


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PostPosted: 01 Oct 2009, 23:03 
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No, he can't, we already finished'em.


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PostPosted: 07 Oct 2009, 14:20 
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"Consuming Despair"


Who knew desperation could consume the soul in such a fathom matter? Observing the myriads of the pain, close, intact, oblivious to self produced external causes, creating such a hardened shell to the self imposed reality that leads into a desperate life no one ever wished.

Do dream... to like something one cannot hold, to strain the visage of perfection to a point where the acceptable becomes no longer sustainable by delirious outbursts of sanity. I mourn death, the death of the soul, the death of reality in a never ending cascade of misanthropic desires, earthly desires to see it all being consumed under the rages of unholy fire by some forsaken god.

The pain is striking allowing us to discover new levels of purpose previously hidden from man, from the eyes of the unseen, the eyes that despair consumes and the mind corrupt, The same eyes that may see the altruistic innards of some decaying promise made in long forgotten times. To strike, to hurt, to obliterate all that mankind stands for in one swift blow. To reborn under the ashes of despair only to restart the whole cycle that will lead itself to it's own demise.

Swift Death Retribution.


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PostPosted: 11 Aug 2010, 13:40 
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"Invoking Pain"


Destruction created of a sub madness state, swirls around me as the leering eyes scoff at the inherent pain derived from such mechanism.The madness strikes, hits and kill like an hecatomb of mirages stranded in place by a cruel god. I weaken my state to subvert the immortal vortex that consumes, consumes the soul, consumes the mind, consumes the ego and in the end what remains is the shell of what used to resemble a shambles form of a human being.

Does madness really strike at the conjecture we all live and abide for? Can a live be called alive without it's mental pillars supporting the structure of sanity. I create my own pain, I create my own demon that will kill me and will allow me to live. So close..... close to lunacy... a welcoming madness driven by pain-stake visions. Do I need to die? Can I die? Can the visages that surround the myriads of pain enveloping my own creation be allowed to exists in a time outside their own scope?

Perhaps I must die.

Perhaps I should die.

The madness is numbing, all consuming conflagration of the soul... how long can a psyche last?

Rule the unruly, destroy the undestroyable, kill, reform, reborn, live....


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PostPosted: 26 Aug 2010, 13:36 
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"Sorrow Abyss"

It comes and goes as a pain stricken sea of sorrow. Waves invoking the inner most death desires. To die, to fall, to falter, to become an embodiment of something that once resembled a human soul, Hollow devoid of anything, a crimson sorrow washes every last strand of life we were granted by an unknown creator and we still fall, an eternal fall, the vain search the kill the monster that we all are.

Humanity is lost, lost in precious moments of wanderlust in a sea of blood. Death, blood, pain. The primordial instinct, the lunacy that holds in the threshold of madness. Can we love? Can we be loved? Can we die for what we love?

Slowly I watch my own soul funeral on top of the burning pyre of spirits. They beckon, they call to me to die in sorrow, forever die.... perhaps one day I will die in my sleep. Departing this mortal coil that embraces in such a cruel fate. Perhaps...

I was once told of a prophecy: "Those who born alone, die alone". Perhaps now is my time to die...


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