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#vale
When a project has been abandoned, creators of said project will solve small, irrelevant problems, so as to give themselves an ounce of satisfaction, rather than just solve the problem as a whole.
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Oct 11, 2024
Oct 11, 2024 at 9:48 PM UTC
Projects
I met my rose in full bloom But it had to wilt too soon It was a beautiful painting, in a bright wooden frame And no two ever looked at it the same You were like a duck, sailing on a bright blue pond I never knew that you'd have to go, so far long gone Your comforting structure had turned to dust And your shining walls had begun to rust This place was built on a conjoined dream It was so much more than we'd ever seen I learned what it was like in my own mind I learned what it was like for someone to be so kind When we saw the rubble, we all held hands Looking at the ruins and thousand sands It was the one place where I could be wild The one place where I could truly be a child But even though you were destined to fail Thank you for teaching me how to live, My Vale
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Oct 5, 2024
Oct 5, 2024 at 11:26 AM UTC
A Shared Dream
I wake up under our tree, next to her The oranges and pinks of the sunset in the distance are a blur I don't even care that she's gone, she's next to me "Rose, stop stressing!" She says, "can't you finally see?" "You helped us! You saved us all." "But you're dead," I respond, "so why do you stand tall?" "Plus, it's not fully back yet, they're all gone still." "I know, Rose. You're incredibly ill." Her skin melts into the roots of the tree The tree decays until just a stump in front of me The pinks and oranges of the sunset turn into rain I run through the dying grass, wondering if I'm sane I run through thick fog until a ruined castle is in my path, still injured from its past with the Wrath. I then realized my nightmare must've been a memory Behind me is him, "Hi, Professor Emery!" I think to myself, "this will only be a memory of the past", as the student's skin and the castle walls begin to melt fast.
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Sep 24, 2024
Sep 24, 2024 at 6:58 PM UTC
Illusions of the Past
I did not engineer Nor attempt to construct The human soul No Not I The mere idea seemed frivolous Damnably gelatinous and Above all else Impossible to comprehend How silly it might turn out Indeed I thought this I did attempt however To make a spicy jam One evening at the End of Winter I believe Lovely time When this, What I consider the beginning of a debacle, Began I threw together Bits, and things, and twigs, And professional spices, And Illicit words, and Brown sugar, And old tea, And harmless fun And Puppy Dog Tails, And I’m allergic to snails, And something that I called Steve It could have been Tom But it looked like a Steve to me Despite its arguments that it was A Barbra through and through I stirred and fiddled and sang To this black and thin glop I indeed attempted to call A spiced jam concoction That was tap-dancing in circles On my stovetop without permission When, no I know, the usual happened I became bored Yes Yes Indeed I did Bored Thoroughly Bored Bored Bored Where was I? Oh yes. Bored Bored of this Damnable, Jammable, Fred Astaire Not spicy jam So I left what would become The self-engineering diluent, Now a vicious, viscous, and crude thing That would become the human soul On the back burner While I cooked some pasta instead I prefer pasta It is delicious Not like that mistake of mine It continued to be a mistake of mine It was not pasta, It was not spiced jam, And I never remembered to throw it in the Hazmat bin Whoops For a year I believe It could have been a week A very long and tiring week Or seven years When I heard the back burning Singing back to me About apples with a crisp bite About fireworks that misfired About drug needles used to sew together sanity Was this too spicy? With its two voices of Hospital dust And Captive applause Oh my, This couldn't possibly Taste good I believe whatever this has Festered into without Adult supervision, I believe it might be beginning to turn Like milk and wine I bottled it in a wooden bottle And left it on the stoop of an orphanage To find a good home I wonder if this not spiced jam Has found a good home Last I heard They all went from it to They And attended Engineering School.
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Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 7:43 PM UTC
Engineer of the Human Soul
I did not engineer Nor attempt to construct The human soul No Not I The mere idea seemed frivolous Damnably gelatinous and Above all else Impossible to comprehend How silly it might turn out Indeed I thought this I did attempt however To make a spicy jam One evening at the End of Winter I believe Lovely time When this, What I consider the beginning of a debacle, Began I threw together Bits, and things, and twigs, And professional spices, And Illicit words, and Brown sugar, And old tea, And harmless fun And Puppy Dog Tails, And I’m allergic to snails, And something that I called Steve It could have been Tom But it looked like a Steve to me Despite its arguments that it was A Barbra through and through I stirred and fiddled and sang To this black and thin glop I indeed attempted to call A spiced jam concoction That was tap-dancing in circles On my stovetop without permission When, no I know, the usual happened I became bored Yes Yes Indeed I did Bored Thoroughly Bored Bored Bored Where was I? Oh yes. Bored Bored of this Damnable, Jammable, Fred Astaire Not spicy jam So I left what would become The self-engineering diluent, Now a vicious, viscous, and crude thing That would become the human soul On the back burner While I cooked some pasta instead I prefer pasta It is delicious Not like that mistake of mine It continued to be a mistake of mine It was not pasta, It was not spiced jam, And I never remembered to throw it in the Hazmat bin Whoops For a year I believe It could have been a week A very long and tiring week Or seven years When I heard the back burning Singing back to me About apples with a crisp bite About fireworks that misfired About drug needles used to sew together sanity Was this too spicy? With its two voices of Hospital dust And Captive applause Oh my, This couldn't possibly Taste good I believe whatever this has Festered into without Adult supervision, I believe it might be beginning to turn Like milk and wine I bottled it in a wooden bottle And left it on the stoop of an orphanage To find a good home I wonder if this not spiced jam Has found a good home Last I heard They all went from it to They And attended Engineering School.
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101
down the Valley where the river flows flocks of graves swarmed with crows ashes to ashes turn dust to dust where their metals lei and turned to rust stenches of blood screams and decay where wasted sheds are left astray down the Valley where the river flows are plumps of graves where flowers grow
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Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC
Vale
Walk Tall.. Walk Tall my child walk tall, The vultures will soon be gone..walk tall, This razed land knows its blood in the fall, As it imbibed the pious juice in its ***** afterall, The tears that roll down from your aspen eyes, Will nourish many a thristy soul that silently cries, How will we forget the enemy that came, And our own brethern of doubious fame, That tore our home and stole our land, And backed us to our last stand.. The time will come when it will be over, And the sun will shine in the morning hour, So be ready my little one, Thou are sure the chosen one, You have to rule these meadows and all, So walk Tall..walk tall walk tall.
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Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 6:22 AM UTC
Walk Tall..
Marinheiro, marinheiro Se eu te disser, companheiro Que a vida não vale a pena no mar Você desiste de velejar? Marinheiro, marinheiro Se eu te confessar, companheiro, Que estou a duvidar Você insiste em me acompanhar? Marinheiro, marinheiro Se eu esbravejar, companheiro Você me aceita sem lutar E me ajuda devagar? Marinheiro, marinheiro Se eu gritar, companheiro Você me resgata de me matar Ao insistir em não respirar? Marinheiro, marinheiro Você é meu fiel companheiro Você consegue nisso acreditar Mesmo que eu esteja a titubear? Marinheiro, marinheiro Você, companheiro Vale por cem cargueiros Cheios de nosso companheiros.
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Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC
Marinheiro, marinheiro, você, companheiro
I want to sit with you by the Arby's And watch the future's lights pass overhead I want to run together in the breeze Through the desert with the glow cloud ahead I want to eat at Big Rico's with you Maybe we could sneak in some wheat products I want to find out if we could get through This town without joining that calm forest I want to visit the science district And we can go watch an experiment We can go to see something artistic For the stray dog's graffiti is apparent I want to listen to the radio And, with you, wonder where else we can go
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Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 11:45 PM UTC
Night Vale Love
Stop. The trees are sinking As the ground grows mouths to swallow them Keep your head held high No, actually, don’t Heads held high are often cut off Stay low, keep to the shadows NOT THOSE SHADOWS! Those ones, over there. Yes. Don’t move. Don’t ever move again. Question your existence as you huddle Trying to be still but shivering despite yourself There are no mouths here, nothing to swallow you And isn’t that a shame? Find the teeth that will crush you Throw yourself on their unyielding edges Accept your fate. Everyone else has. Can’t you see that? Can’t you hear it in the empty echo of your voice As you call for help, for company, for a face, any face? Stop. You are dreaming this. Oh you are still alone, we all are But there are no gnashing teeth to grind you up No mouths in the ground to swallow you whole Breathe. Relax. It’s all okay. It’s all okay. Everything will be okay if you let it. Will you let it? Do you need to be convinced? Stop. You are dreaming, you are dreaming. Wake up. Why can’t you wake up? The ground is opening up again This is too real to be a dream All you can do is cry soundlessly into the dark Stop. Stop. Stop.
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Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 2:15 AM UTC
Stop. You Are Dreaming