Attropolis VII

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Caution: Attropolis contains strong language, sexual content, disturbing images and immoral grotesque behavior. You have been warned.

The next morning in Creetus a storm was brewing, dark clouds, thunder, the sea unruly, waves hitting the shore high and strong. People were shaken and in a hurry to secure some food, as they rarely bought food for more than one day. But they weren’t afraid of the dark, especially in the mornings, since they all had slept, they regenerated their eye’s ability to shine light in darkness. Hippos woke up to a thunder, his parents nowhere to be found. He went to the window, looked up, the dark sky was enveloping everything, the lightnings were creating a wonderful show that excited him, the thunder was creating a symphony that was raising the hairs on his arm. Suddenly his parents burst through the doors, as rain started to pour down from the skies. Seeing his parents wet, hearing the thunders, Hippos couldn’t help himself, he ran out of the house, the parents didn’t have courage to step out when Zeus was mad, throwing lightnings down at earth. Others were afraid of Poseidon, as he could drown them, when days like these occurred it meant that the very next day, they would have to sacrifice an animal, but that also meant traveling to the foot of Mount Olympus. Hippos was running, ecstatic, each step that hit the ground was creating a splash, the bigger the splash the faster he was trying to run and harder to put his foot down. His white robe, was drenched, sticking to his body. With each thunder he started screaming as loud as he possibly could, thus no one could hear his voice. Some people were looking outside in the darkness and seeing him run past their house. Most of them were scared, the rest thought he was crazy, though no one really recognized who the child was. He had finally arrived in the town square, all alone, no one around, the rain was pouring, the boy started gesturing left and right towards the places the lighting was appearing through sky. He raised his right hand, clenched a fist and rapidly brought his arm towards the ground making a semicircular motion, up and down, as lightning struck the house of one of the town’s most respected elders. A scream that seemed to be the spark that started the fire was heard. Hippos was ecstatic, he couldn’t believe his eyes and his luck. The water got to his ankles, he was shaking, not because he was cold, but because he couldn’t contain all the adrenaline that was rushing through his body. So he started running again, running back to his home. Crying, he had never felt so much excitement in his entire life, like a god striking down upon mortals. Then the rain stopped, like with a snap of the fingers, everything went dead quiet, nothing was moving, he stood in place… Then he….

See you in the next part

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Attropolis VI (18+ NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART)

Before we even begin today’s short story I want to remind you of a few things: It’s fiction, not real. The title is not a challenge nor is it a lie. What you are about to read is sickening. Proceed at your own risk. If' you still don’t understand the reason behind this whole series, then you might have misinterpret it or not understood it at all what I am doing with this series. If you find out and need things spelled out, please contact me. Thank you. Enjoy. This part has not been a joke, nor was it sarcastic, I was very serious.

Heart to Heart

This is my first rant of 2019, welcome.

I probably talked or have written about similar things before, but now I want to hit on something else, my own happiness.

Why aren't you smiling more?
Well, because you don't give me a reason to smile, maybe it's not your fault, cause I might have things on my mind and I am worried. Maybe it's because you disappointed me, you made my life harder, or took a decision that now I have to deal with. Maybe, it's because you're a hypocrite.

Why do you always joke? You know that's unprofessional, right?
Cause I am funny? Cause I can see the irony? Because it's unbelievably stupid? Because the situation is funny? Or because it reminds me of something funny.

Why are you always so serious? Can't you take a joke?
I thought you wanted me to be more professional and serious, which is it? Or is it that you only want to joke when you ain't the butt of the joke?

You should be happier! Enjoy life more.
I should, but you stand in my way.

Here's how people stay in my way:
They're hypocrites. That's it, thank you.

Nah, I'm joking. Not done, otherwise this fucking rant is pointless, I need to get my point across more clearly so that it hurts.

I can be plenty happy on my own, or with the content I choose to digest, the food I enjoy, the people I choose to be with, and who I am. Happy plenty, grateful plenty, cheerful as it can be. But…

If you stand in my way for no other reason than being an asshole, if you hurt others or make their lives harder and mine too by proxy, then I can’t be happy.

If you’re acting all high and mighty but you’re doing the same thing you accuse those of doing, then you’re a hypocrite and you’re doing no good to me or anyone, so I can’t be happy.

If you choose to take advantage of me, my time, my skills and then throw at me empty words when you are punishing me, then I can’t be happy… How can I?

If you’re creating problems for me because you don’t care, then how can I be happy?

If you’re a business owner, manager, boss of any kind and I see you take advantage and punish your workers for your mistakes, then how can I be professional and be cheerful working for you?

If you’re a hypocrite that is in a position of power and does all this and all this impacts me directly, then how can I be happy? Well, if you’re a hypocrite and you’re asking me to “be the better man” that means you’re the lesser, that means that you just want to take advantage of me or others, that means that you’re blind to how toxic you yourself are. So don’t ask me to be happy, professional, the better man… Because I don’t need you to ask any of that from me, because I know I can be. But that doesn’t excuse you. Yeah, you. Democrat, republic, whatever… All the same shit to me if you’re a hypocrite and can’t do what you ask from others.

Conclusion: If you want the best from someone, be the best and give your best too. Don’t mistreat them, don’t punish others for your mistakes and your idiocy.

Attropolis V

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Caution: Attropolis contains strong language, sexual content, disturbing images and immoral grotesque behavior. You have been warned.

Jonis Aledranxus started his class, again, this time he tried staying on the topic of Astrology. The classroom was silent as they were still afraid of their teacher. A balding pug of a man, that got all red if he got angry, he did have a tempter and a tick of screaming at something, anything given the chance. He had a very imaginative mind, no one dared to get in an argument with him, as his arguments were always strong, to the point and he'd never back down. I think that was called stubbornness. This class was an introduction to the zodiac signs and what they meant. "You see, children. The gods have devised a way to communicate with us. As I told you before today, those pale dots on the sky are what we call stars. They are put there by gods in order to help us with our daily lives. This is the reason we're having the astrology class so late in the day, so we can observe the sky." said the professor. The children were all visibly excited by this, as he gave them some hope. Hippos wasn't really paying attention to any of this, since he sat next to his love, thus he had a hand between her legs, something new to play with. He had never touched something like that before until now, it was exciting, for her too. And since it was already dark, no one could really see what they were doing. Suddenly he had an idea, he went down onto his all fours and put his head between her legs. It smelled like a platter of sea food, but he liked it, so he started liking and licking. She loved every single moment of it. "These dots are in formations we call constellations, some of the more complex ones, we call zodiac signs, anyone can find them, since they each represent something. These twelve zodiac signs are: Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Cancer, Leo, Virgo, Libra, Scorpio, Sagittarius, Capricorn Aquarius and Pieces. Aries is representatives of a ram, showing their stubbornness, Taurus is a powerful bull, Gemini are twins in synchronicity, Cancer is a crab that can pinch, Leo is a ferocious lion, Virgo is a tender virgin, Libra is a righteous scale that knows how to balance things, Scorpios is someone that can be deceitful, Sagittarius always hits his point, Capricorn can adapt itself on land or water, Aquarius can't keep a secret, and finally Pieces... That can get through anything in life like they are fish in water. If we look at the sky, we can all see these zodiac signs as constellations. These zodiac signs correspond to an well thought out and researched arbitrary dates, so we each of us have a our own individual sign, depending on when during the year you were born. The position of these constellations in regards to this flat earth is how the gods communicate with us. But that's not all, there are oracles, those with such high abilities to discern how the stars outside of the zodiac signs impact our lives. These oracles have a sixth sense and the ability to understand the gods tongue itself." said professor Jonis Aledranxus. Suddenly there was commotion around the classroom, you could hear soldiers approaching. Hippos got up from between her legs, his mouth was prune like, she was shaking. The soldiers with torches surround the classroom, the professor told everyone to stay calm. A few soldiers approach Jonis and tell him that he is under arrest for sodomy. Jonis, unhappy hearing that he started fuming, turning red, he was angry and started screaming. "I AM A RED BLOODED HUMAN BEING! YOU CANNOT ARREST ME FOR SOMETHING THAT IS SO HUMAN" he spewed with anger at the soldiers. They explained to him that having sex with frogs to prove that they are homosexual is in fact sodomy and it is not tolerated in a civil society like Creetus. The soldiers told him that he could either choose confinement or being banished from the city. Since no parent would want such a creep close to their children. And thus, Jonis Alendraxus was banned from Creetus for having sexual intercourse with frogs to prove their homosexuality.  So, the children were left to go back home to their parents, since they had no teacher for the evening. Most children were happy and confused at what just happened, their parents were about to get a very long evening of explaining what homosexuality is, why some people do that and what are frogs.

 

And in Rome…

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Attropolis IV

Caution: Attropolis contains strong language, sexual content, disturbing images and immoral grotesque behavior. You have been warned.

An afternoon in Creetus meant a few things, school for children, end of work day for adults, drinking and setting up the traps around the city. The traps usually were set up by men, before they started drinking. So they can fend off against predators, so they wouldn't be attacked in the middle of the night. As many died in an incident a few moons ago, when a few wolves and some lost bears that came down from the mountain, they had entered people's homes and started eating them. A rare thing to happen in a city that is situated between the coast, the mountains to the north and fields to the south. But then again nature was cruel, it was vicious, if you didn't know how to set a trap, how to handle a sword or some kind of weapon. Hippos was heading back to school, on his way he met some of his classmates. Most of his classmates were still scarred from the previous lesson that was supposed to be about astrology, yet had turned into a life lesson. Being a busy afternoon, like most afternoons, the city was a noisy cluster, yet in all this cluster, everyone knew exactly what they had to do and how to do it. Well, some more than others, but that's life, not everyone can be perfect. A head rolls in front of our young boy, Hippos, and his classmates. Gushing blood, with its eyes getting whiter, the children started screaming. But him? He started kicking it and laughing, making a mess on the street, though his infectious laughter, calmed the rest of the children down. So they started kicking the head towards the school, passing it from one to the other. And what a wonderful afternoon it was indeed, the pure imagination and the joy of the children playing something different was just something lovely to witness. As their innocence wasn't seeing a dead man, that had memories, had a life, had a family, a daughter, and just happened to had had an accident, but a simple round squishy thing they can kick around for fun. Thus what seemed a long road ahead for them to school, turned into a nice afternoon, where they simply forgot about the terrors of the underworld and wrath of the gods sitting at mountain tops. They got at the school building, there, his love was waiting for him. Her mother had made a necklace for her, attached at that necklace was the head of the bird Hippos had gifted her that morning. The stench of blood was reeking off of him, he had part of an eye stuck between three of his toes on one foot. On the other, he had some small cuts and a couple of teeth stuck, where he was bleeding, his sandals still covered in some shit he had stepped in that morning, mixing with the blood, gave it a new aroma. She didn't mind any of that, the only thing she cared about was his smile, enthusiasm, and bravery. A bravery none of the other children had shown, well, that's not the only thing Hippos was showing, as his pecker was usually outside or he was playing with his pecker, even during classes. She was very into him, they had common interests, playing with their genitals in school seemed to be the common hobby they had, these adorable children. It was like an explosion when two starts cross in each other's path and collide into something magical. Though Fate was grim, she was an old lady taking care of the premises, cleaning up the place after the teachers and children. The poor woman was in her fourties, not many got to her age, mostly due to childbirth and disease. Yet here she was, with all her twelve children dead at or before the age of five, taking care of this school, with children of all ages running around, reminding her that maybe if one of the children would have lived past the age of five, her husband wouldn't have hung himself a five years ago while on a drunken stupor. Yet her days aren't as lonely anymore, as random people usually hit on her, with a punch to the back of the neck, as maybe one guy or multiple plow her. Not that she would say no, but then again she is enjoying these encounters as they seem thrilling and remind her of when she was young. As boys her age and men chased after her, to put her on the ground and stick their poles into her feel good hole, that's the way she always liked it, since she grew up that way. Years had past the only thing that changed was her age, and the fact that children don't like her anymore. They used to, but once the wrinkles show, children start to remember that it would be like having intercourse with their mother. And no boy wants to have intercourse with their mothers. Some girls used to love having intercourse with their fathers, uncles and extended family, but that changed as war has taken over in these past decades. 

And later, during class...

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Pilot Program - 20 Questions

Welcome, this is the first in a series of short stories I will post throughout the year. These short stories will be future works on this blog. Just like Attropolis is this year’s short story, so will one of these, the short story for 2020. How do you come into play? You read the stories, you share the stories, you leave comments until Nov. 1st of 2019. On Nov. 1st I’ll have a masterpost with a poll right here, asking you to vote for a whole month and then, on Jan. 4th 2020 you will read the first chapter and winner of the Pilot Program.

The first entry, I already talked a little bit about it, so, I’m going to bring it back: 20 Questions. Enjoy, comment, share and like.

20 Questions

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Will you or will you not?

So my dating life wasn't stellar, to say the least, that is to be very, very kind with the choice of my words. Now, to tell you how this all began. One day while I was attending college, I got this weird and down right distressing message: "Please come and see me, I beg you. I really need to see you right now." The message itself was strange, the stranger part was that it was from my ex-girlfriend. And looking back on how it all ended, I couldn't think of a single reason why she would send me that message, other than the fact that she needs help…

But, there was still a chance that she just wanted to see me, in which case I did not want to be bothered. So I replied with a simple and very dull message back, saying: "What do you need?" The response to that was almost the same message, but with an added hook to reel me in: "I need to see you, please! Just this once, I need you for something. I need your help! Please come behind the college building. I promise you, you will not regret it." Thing number one about this message that made me curious, "Come behind the college building", something she would never say or a place she would never visit. Second thing: "I need you for something, I need your help", my reaction was something along the lines of: "What the fuck? I need you for something? I need your help? Why?" But then I got a little frustrated, since she wouldn't respond properly to the questions I had, so I went along.

And what a surprise awaited me, I was stupefied. I got there, saw her together with another girl, so naturally I asked myself if that girl needed help with something. But when I started talking to my ex, she started explaining the following thing, this was the thing that left me stupefied: "So you know how you ended the relationship because of your… Reasons? You said that someone perfect for you would be someone to understand your weird thoughts and whatnot?" My prompt response was something like this: "Stop it please, I do not want to either remember or talk about that anymore. At least not with you. So why did you bring this up? Why did you beg me to come here? And finally what do you want?" She continued saying that she found the perfect girl for me, saying: "Tadaaaa." And pointing towards her, that girl she brought with her. My thoughts were “what the fuck is wrong with her”, so I asked her why did she do this? And if she is out of her freaking mind. She smiled and said that it's the least she could do and that she wanted to help me in some way. So, she insisted to introduce me to this girl, at first glance she seemed cute. But with further analysis from a short distance while my ex was talking, I noticed that she is actually adorable, quite beautiful and I liked the way she was clothed. So my thought went to a: "Fuck it, why not." But I should have probably listened to my ex instead of analyzing the girl.

And this is how I got introduced to her, July. So without any further ado, I asked her: Did you know why she brought you here? What this was all about? And to my surprise she nodded. So I asked her: Don't you find this strange or weird in any way? She seemed a bit shocked, so I explained how she was introduced to me by my ex and that I actually thought she needed help and I did not expect it to turn into something like this. So she started laughing, while my ex was just leaving. July simply asked me: "So what do you want to do? Will you or will you not?" Somehow I felt like this was my second and last chance with her.

Remember, if you liked this story, leave a like, share it and comment.

Attropolis III

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Caution: Attropolis contains strong language, sexual content, disturbing images and immoral grotesque behavior. You have been warned.

The Colosseum was chanting the ritual in unison with the priests. This went on for a few minutes, before a hush fell over the crowd. The high priest, with a sensual movement, as he approached the sacrifice, the crowd became hypnotized by him. Step by step by step, the tension was rising, the crowd was shaking in anticipation, the high priest tripped and stabbed the sacrifice in the eye. The silence persisted for a moment, until the stands started screaming in terror together with the sacrifice. Blood was dripping down his face, the people started booing the high priest, demanding his head to be taken clean off too. The high priest was pleading that the ground was uneven, it was all the fault of his understudy. Laughter burst from the crowd, hearing such nonsense from the priest. The Senate was ready to pardon the priest for his mistakes, as he was a powerful figure. But the stands weren't buying any of it, laughing him off, booing him, mocking his excuses by screaming "I tripped on the wind", "I sneezed and I fell." After seeing the crowd reactions, afraid of not being made fun of too, the senate and the Caesar settled on executing the high priest for embarrassing the Empire and probably bringing the wrath of the gods upon them. Thus that day turned from three executions and one sacrifice, to four executions, one pardon and no sacrifice. As they needed to find someone else to sacrifice, since they couldn't give a damaged gift to the gods, since that would be disrespectful. And so, the high priest's head was cut off, with one hard swing from the executioner. The one that was supposed to be sacrificed that day, died a few days later from the nasty infection and blood loss. The children had one very exciting day until that point. It was time for their break, they all headed towards their respective homes. The four had split up, Juliusegos was left with one of the poorer kids, he was an immigrant from the Greek city of Troy, his names being Daedelus. Juliusegos didn't really care about how rich or how poor other people were, as long as they wouldn't steal any of the attention he was getting. As per usual from his way from school, he was taken the side roads, near the river Tiber. Vibrant with greenery, musk, mushy earth and not much housing around, he loved to play around there, usually getting home covered in mud and dirt. Jumping, doing cartwheels and just a bunch of tomfoolery, Juliusegos favorite past time, sometimes he was catching frogs or even fish on the banks of the river. Daedelus was enjoying this very much too, as most of his memories were on the road with his parents, trying to move away from Troy. The roads were harsh, winter came early that year and hit them fast and hard. Cities were widespread and rations were small the further you were moving away from bigger cities. His father was always proud of the fact that they didn't take a boat towards Rome as they probably would have died in the storms. Though tragedy struck them one day during their hardship filled trip towards Rome when a bear mauled his father to death and him and his mother were stuck in a tree for three days. After those three days, they got down and moving again, though at one point entering the Empire, her mother got raped by a bunch of Roman soldiers. A few days later when they got bored of her, she was released. And they restarted their journey, it took them another three weeks to finally get to Rome. They had settled in a pretty bad part of town, yet her mother had found some decent work. Daedelus liked playing around, from boys to girls, he liked playing around with everyone, a happy and energetic little boy. A wild boar suddenly took Daedelus in his aims, hitting him and ravaging his corpse. Juliusegos at that time was climbing a tree and didn't even notice. After the boar was done with the little boy's body, he went on his merry way. Juliusegos jumped down from the tree and went on his merry way home too. Once he got home, he was alone, his mother again was on her sacred duty of having sex somewhere in town. He sat on a wooden chair at the table, happily eating some stale bread his mother had made a few days ago and drinking some sour milk. There was a horrible, fowl stench coming from somewhere inside the house, yet he wasn't bothered by any of it, in fact he was used to it. But his mind was somewhere else, he still had a couple of hours before the break ended and school had to restart. Though this was just the beginning of the journey for Juliusegos. And in Greece...

 

End of Part 3

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Attropolis II

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Caution: Attropolis contains strong language, sexual content, disturbing images and immoral grotesque behavior. You have been warned. The following events probably happened and are based on past real events. The story you’re about to read is based on many documented past beliefs and behaviors.

"Rome is my city." said Juliusegos de la Capital. These words were thought by his mother, a wealthy whore that confused self-respect with fornicating the Caesar's close circle and wearing a sheet of silk and a tiny leather belt that barely held said sheet on her. The city was vibrant, even in these early hours of the day, as Juliusegos was walking towards the school. The fresh smell of fish, produce, horse dung that was on the streets as carriages were roaming the roads, were filling the air, people were doing their morning shopping. Some were taking their recently deceased ones, putting them outside on the ground  before they were to be taken for inhumation or cremation. In his adorable sandals, he was skipping through the town singing "Rome is my city" over and over again. Sometimes people joined him, as they thought he was adorable, to be this small and take so much pride in his beloved empire and leader. Enthusiastically he reached his school, children were sword fighting with their adorably small wooden swords, they were playing centurions and savages. The children of the plebs or poor were the centurions and the wealthy and elite were playing the savages, as they wanted to learn how the savages thought, why would they act like the way they did... Thinking that maybe one day when they command their own legion, they would be prepared for whatever those savages would throw towards them. Coianus, Felaticus and Fistium seeing Juliusegos, rushed towards him to greet him with a big smile on their faces. The four of them became friends instantly during the first day of schooling. They met in the lavatory as they each were doing their business, they started a farting contest. The affluent children had their own tutor, those less fortunate were pulling some money together so they can afford all together a tutor. But today was a special day, as they were all going together to the Colosseum to witness some public executions, this was also supposed to be a lesson for the children. For those affluent it's supposed to teach them humility, for those under-privileged was supposed to instill fear into them. As they themselves could become slaves if they wouldn't behave, and if you were to become a slave, more than probably you'd get executed. There were three executions scheduled that day, a mad man believing in some bogus god that was to be crucified, two slaves that tried to run and now they are about to be decapitated. Lastly, there was a sacrifice to our gods. First came one of the slaves, the crowd was roaring, as he was brought up on this elaborate stage. The professor of the children was drawing their attention over to the fact that people would react the same way if they were up there getting executed. A hush fell over the crowd as the slave was asked what his last words were, the slave just screamed some obscenities as the ax fell on his neck. Severing his head from his body, blood was gushing, the crowd was cheering. They immediately brought up the second slave, this one was begging for his life, saying that he was drunk, he didn't know what he was doing. They forced him on his knees, asked him too what his last words were. And the ax fell before he could even speak, the crowed was roaring again with excitement. Some of the children were crying, some were cheering, Juliusegos and his friends were chanting and dancing as the executions were happening. The crazy man was brought up next, the crowd was still cheering, they announced that as an example they will crucify him there in the Colosseum and put up as an example to what happens to heretics. Though they usually wouldn't crucify people in such places. They had the cross already laying there, the soldiers came, beat the man as the crowd was cheering them on. He was put on the cross, and they started nailing him, first his right hand. With each hit of the hammer he was screaming, just as the crowd was cheering. The mixed sound of his screams with the crowds cheer at each hit of the hammer was something wonderful to witness. They had finally finished nailing him to the cross, as he was put into his place, the crowd started chanting "Die, die, heretic, bye, bye heretic." In agony the mad man was looking around, as blood was dripping in his eyes, as he had his skull cracked by one of the Roman soldiers, when they beat him into submission. So they left him there, as they started to prepare for the sacrifice. The preliminary ritual had started for the offering to the gods, the sacrifice, usually a male, was on a big table, his head was covered with a cloth, the ritual was supposed to clean him so that the gods may accept him. And so...

 

End of part 2

Consider supporting on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/RaulFO For analysis from the author watch the video below:

Trapped: Winter - An excerpt about things

Maybe a disruption helps from time to time from the average days of the mundane, the ordinary and the plain.

It might get your brain rattled, shaken for something interesting to find or think.

Or just simply distracted from all one wants to avoid… Isn’t that right?

Of course it is, nothing works better than distractions. Or changes for the sake of just changing anything, so one can be busy, have an excuse to procrastinate on the things that really matter. Well, that’s if you choose to make them matter.

Otherwise it’s pointless. Isn’t it? To choose anything or have any sort of say or need for freedom of choice… When you don’t want to choose or do anything, really.

But then again, so is trying to find your purpose in life and starting to do something with what you have been gifted.

There are simpler ways to deal with that… Just chuck the responsibility on some entity and say it’s in their will. Whether it’s Karma or whatever god you can come up with… And you’re have no more responsibility to be or do anything, because you know you already have your place reserved and you’ll be forgiven once you pass onto the next life, whatever for it may be, if there is one.

So, if it’s in his will, why should one have the choice to choose what they do with their life? If it’s in his will… Your life doesn’t belong to you, does it? It’s either his or yours, it can’t be both.

Not that it really matters, because when it comes down to it all, there’s nothing really that matters, if you don’t want it to matter. Is there?

No, not be default, only by designation…

Just like choosing who we are with.

Choosing is used loosely in this context, isn’t it?

To choose means you knew all options and chose the best one for you. Yet if you do not know yourself, id you do not know what you want… If you don’t have all options… What exactly are you choosing?

Whatever is left… And you’re happy with that, aren’t you? You’re happy with what you’re getting and nothing else. Isn’t that right?

That’s not choosing, is it? When you’re forced by circumstance to choose between bad and bad-ish, between okay and okay-ish. To have to choose something that is not up to your standards…

Or…

Or worse… Choose something that doesn’t even satisfy you after a while. Something that is becoming a nagging thing you can’t escape from, but you’re not willing to risk it, because it’s better with the lesser evil than alone, or worse… With someone that is worst that she is…

Things, they’re all things that are here and there and everywhere…

So you settle… You aren’t willing to go for better, because you might never get the better, since the better already found the better of you in someone else. So, now you sulk at the thought… A regret for no reason, as it didn’t happen, yet, you’re not willing to risk it. To get out of this box of misery you live in. But nor can you tell all this to the person you are, because you just might hurt their feelings. You might just insult them unwillingly, about a truth we all know, yet don’t we don’t speak of. When we have the tools to find those that we want or need, we shut our mouths and close ourselves off, because trying to find those we want or need, might end up in disappointment. So we settle, for worse, never for better, always for worse.

Always for worse than you can do, I can do, anyone can do. Because there’s nothing else that matters, as long as you don’t die alone, suffering and crying.

Right? Wasting away, what a self-inflicted tragedy that no one will mourn. Because no one should mourn someone like that, a monster that love its own misery to the extent you do. And then you wonder why no one wants you, when you can’t even love the thing you are.

Things, that’s all we are, things that pass. Everything is a thing of a thing of a thing. And no one can change that, no one… Because you’re either no one or some thing that does a thing that has its thing of a purpose that helps things.

And everyone loves a good thing, don’t they?

So I heard.

An Artist's Manifesto

Hi, I honestly didn’t think I would do this… But here I am.

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What do you think when you hear the word artist? Probably a musician, a painter, photographer, dancer… More in the audio-visual department I suppose. Why? Looking the question what type of artists there are you get a long list: “Some different types of art are animation, architecture, assemblage, calligraphy, ceramics, computer, Christian or religious, conceptual, artistic design, drawing, folk, graffiti, graphic, illuminated manuscript, illustration, mosaic, painting, performance, photography, sculpture, stained glass, tapestry, and video.” This is just to kind of give you an idea of why I am talking about this. It bothers me, I don’t like this… I really don’t. Each of those mentioned above have an industry attached to their name, this will make sense a bit later, yet, they are still considered art. The same goes for movies, right? Movies are mainstream, making billions upon billions of dollars, they are also art, more some than others, and the people involved in them are artists, right? Here’s a tweet that kind of tipped the scales in my decision to write this manifesto.:

https://twitter.com/Brandonwoelfel/status/1082087400099274754

Now… My question is as follows, when did writers/authors fall out of this category of artists? Why is writing not an art? Why is the writer not an artists? Are we taking books for granted? Are we taking writers for granted? Let me walk you through this a bit. There were multiple strikes by the screenwriter’s guild, with another one just barely avoided this past few years. My question is why? How can those that put the skeleton of a project together be treated in such a way that even to this day they are underpaid and overworked? Behind these masterpieces and these countless hours of entertainment you get every single day. From the writers in a TV station behind a show you’re watching cause you have nothing better to do, those that writer for YouTube channels, to writers that rip your heart out with some of the best TV/Movies/plays out there… To those that writer short stories and finally those that write books, the authors. Which 98% of them couldn’t live on the money they make from their sales books, because they the house they signed with ripped them off, scammed them, or simply wouldn’t pay them or tricked them into a horrible deal. To those that self-published and don’t usually get a chance. But all these people write and create some of your favorite stories… Those that are either talented or worked their asses off to become the wordsmiths they are in order to blow your mind. Those people that can create whole worlds that have endless interpretations, those people aren’t worth being called artists? How can people deny the fact that there’s an art in discourse, in writing, creating, thinking, imagining and mustering the power of putting all those feelings and thoughts into words isn’t an art and that writers aren’t artists themselves? Writing is as much a visual art as anything else. But we never really do consider them artists, do we? They are their own breed… Either amateurs or intellectuals… But never the artist… We have to change that. It’s unacceptable. We have sites that promote artistry but leave out writers and writings, poetry and plays. We auction paintings and photos, yet no one is auctioning for books. Authors have to sell their books for pennies or a dime, when we ask for 12-15 dollars a book, we look at the author like he is a fucking madman, because he is not well known, we don’t think of the hours put behind that work, the people that contributed to it, like an editor, proofreader, beta-readers, printing, publishing, those that designed the covers or paintings withing the book itself. Authors have to sacrifice 80 to 90% of the “income” from a single book, in order to pay others first, before getting anything for all that work. Playwrights spend countless days writing pieces, and don’t get paid until the play really becomes profitable or maybe never. Yet we don’t take any of that into consideration, because they’re not artists, they’re writers, they’re intellectuals or another species… And that their industry is full of snobs and if they’re intellectuals, they'‘re smart enough to find a way to make money (See? Told you it would make sense later). Unless you’re stupid lucky or dead, literature doesn’t really pay, neither in respect nor monetary. If you really want to become a successful writer, you must be a brilliant marketer and seller first, something no one really tells you. There are so many stories of author being rejected 20-40-100 times on their brilliant works or being accepted when they’re old and jaded, and have developed a mental illness that it becomes depressing, not really a success story.

One last thought… If the boundary delimition between something that is art and something that is not is the same across painters, photographers, musicians and writers, then writer and their writing is an art too. You can’t refer to photographers as artists and as writers as non-artists, because the only difference is the “value” and “importance” their work has. The medium is very much irrelevant.

Writers are artists and I want to push that forward, because there is no real argument against writers and their works not being seen as art. So let’s start doing that from now on. Thank you.