Ding!

[Sepia]

"Ding!" is what you type when you level your character in a game, preferrably an online one. If you're among 1337 d00ds in wow you can simply say "Ding 2" to reference the fact you're getting new spells and shit(every 2nd level) or "Ding 10" to signify lots of spells and other upgrades.

This is dedicated to those who can keep their hate up in their writing and still go with a flow because for me it's fucking exhausting. Some long paragraphs but I felt that fit.

(Written pre-BC)


We'll pass the joint to those we never liked,
we'll drink epiphanies to those we long ago preserved,
image image image dream with a laughter, a snicker
and
haha from the bully in simpsons
before someone runs up to the camera and screams, violently, loudly «KICK EM IN THE NADS, THE NADS»

Hi. I've been thinking and drinking but mostly thinking. The grace of what we are, those who we have been or will be. The anecdotes of old, some would say our forefathers and some would deny them but as far as we know they lived anyhow, proudhon, kropotkin, trotskij, che guevara, castro and pancho villa. Those who gave me the most important spiritual (in the sense of something learned to you but which one cannot within the existing system satisfiably put an A, C or F on) lesson I ever learned: Disobedience. I won't lie and I won't cloak and I could tell you my dream. It is the girl of my dreams which I just recently met and we sit on the outskirts of any big city, on a hill, drinking champagne and watching destruction as it pass us by. A revolution is nothing but a fad, I'm more up for what happens next. It won't be as black and white as we hope, it won't be V for Vendetta, it'll be V for Vendetta and the latest scene in 1984, there WILL be sycamore trees in my revolution, there will be betrayers and betrayals, there will be emotions that turn the best logic into shit and there will still be rotting broccolis in the fridge when you get back from looting. Solomon said it for some reason I have no idea but Quasimoto said it so much funnier in his rapsmurf tone, there is nothing new under the sun. We can bicker and argue and my point is, what seperates us from the romans or from the lost city of atlantis or fucking pick one I don't care, pick any INFERIOR RELIGION, pick christianity, pick judaism, discordianism, pick what the fuck you want and when you've selected carefully as you carefully select what kinda donut you want when you're too high to live then ask yourself, what's the difference of that to what we have now?

Objects that are being viewed, observed or seen by subjects will ultimately turn to subjects. I thought this up and I stroke my ego with this because I see it as an illusion but I keep it up, I keep playing the good fucking dog WOOF WOOF, what the fuck changes? Circular logics at its' best and let's try to break up the circle now, COME OUT OF THE SIR-KUHLL, anyhow. What's there to be afraid of, what's there to think of this tentacled beast humanity? They're just humans, right, from your grid of observance and experience, simply random interpretations your brain does, we've all done this before, you've taken the acid, you've taken  that heroic dose and even though you're aware, there's still a circle. There's only thusfar neurolingustic programming can take you before you invalidate Leary's concepts of, exactly, circles (or circuits for the pedant non metaphorical bastard).

We see the guy who doesn't have the che tshirt in red, he's the guy with green or perhaps even burberry. We notice the girl who quotes Descartes and say I think therefore I am. I once said to a girl who said this and she was pretty and I would have liked to have sex/intercourse/love with her but she was being straight to me so I was straight to her and I said I am therefore I'm a copout.

And her mind boggled. She was trying to grasp a completely new concept, one unheard of but in our herd really not and I saw her and I wanted to dig into her brain, open up something new to her and give her that experience and then go happily home and wank but the sad part of the story was we went home to her and shagged for hours to godspeed and I sadistically smiled and thought We're all alone, in our minds, in our revolutions but (SOMETIMES) sex, hallucinogens or fighting as most primate instincts makes us feel what we lack, makes us feel connected, makes us, you know this already, alive.
Now you think solipsism, that's what the bugger thinks about, fuck him and yeah, please do, but I'm not. It's not about solipsism. It's about reality, it's about a barstool experiment and it's what my mind told me the other day ¬´You can't even comprehend what you are¬ª.  You can't say I am because we can't grasp it. I am. Minus I. Am. Am. Am. This should be reverbarating through your skull now. You can't even start to define yourself if you don't do anything.

I must admit, it takes time. It takes time to build anything, all must be prepared beforehand and you can't assign these tasks to anyone else. Think of it as a game. This is just a personal recommendation as when you think of it as a game, there is room for both competition and play. It must be treated as important as it should be treated with joy and amusement because there is room in our minds for both. We can hold as many angels and as many demons as our minds require and there will still be room for everyone elses. We're all a-cold in the streets we walk, filled with guilt because we have a home to return to and we don't have to sleep underneath a bridge and we fill ourselves with hate for ourselves returning home from work or school with a frozen pizza and a bottle of coca cola. We have so short memories, when the year turns and we watch the cavalcades on the telly or in the tabloids we remember what date the nude shot of britney spears was launched yet we have no idea who went into cabinet last month and all we can concur on is that tom cruise is mad and so we watch our celebrities and wish we could be there with hagen dazs in our mouths and peanutbutter on the remote feeling that sweet sensation of saccharine as we drink our skittles but a thought occurrs to you on your fifth joint that morning or on your third shot of vodka before you turn on the telly for that glorious daytime and you know what you gotta do so you shape up, read up on the atkins diet and you think about what you eat in the same way you think you gotta take a piss or a shit but you're going, it's an exhilirating feeling, you've gotten up, you've started to smile and one day you get the answer to your prayers in the mailbox and you know you've done it and they have accepted you and in the distance you hear the blitzes flashing, a halfways known band playing your intro and you step outside and you go to where you feel the sensation of being home, you go into your box, your daytimetv and everyone's watching you now and you know your mummy would be proud if she saw you, now, on tv, entering survivor, entering and they close the doors and you feel at home.

Some men say that all things repeat themselves on all scales and there are sacred words attached: as above, so below. So, dear lad. Do you feel at home? Do you feel at ease? Does comfort creep upon you like the bored beast it is? Can you feel its sluggish fingernails taking their toll upon your heart or is it already too late? Can you distinguish your own heartbeat through a choir of a thousand others? Can you feel it?

Or are you sitting comfortably?

A general rule seems to be if something is hard or long work and it can be avoided, it will be avoided. Who would want to walk five hundred miles for no possible reward whatsoever when you can walk fifty meters to the nearest burger king and get a double whopper bacon cheese, large fries and a gallon of coke light? Not only is it stupidity, it shows a lack of taste and it also shows me that you're sitting too comfortably, watching apocalypses happening in joel silver productions with cheesy endings and you're discussing what you'd do when the zombies get here and you talk about it over vent as everyone uses the repairbot in naxxramas, the next biggest things in their and your life is the coming expansion pack and you're part of the buzzing hive, you're discussing lore with your friends over the internet, stealing time from work when you really should have been debugging the latest myspace page for paris hilton but you know work is an illusion so you play the lottery hoping to win and you talk about it every friday when you and your workmates get obscenely drunk because you're still in the belief that being drunk works almost as good as dipping your body in  aphrodisiacs and you talk about how you're going to quit work and make the world's best guild when you cash in those millions and you dream about getting to seventy and the day you join your brothers in arms to kill illidan and it's begun to snow and there's no buses going home and you left the car at home because you didn't sleep at home you slept on a couch somewhere by work where your coworker and only friend in the real world so you begin to walk to the railwaystation, just a few blocks and you're thinking glory, you're dreaming that you'll one day have power in the world that matters, you'll feel great and grand and be remembered as the guy who delivered the first killing blow to gruul but it's so far away now and before you can get home, before you can make yourself at ease, there's a guy on the sidewalk and you think you know him because he used to be your brother.

[P3nT4gR4m]

Jesus fucking christ dude, you take me places I don't wanna go and keep me there til I'm begging for more!



And yeah it's just words on a screen, but they're more real than any barstool that ever fucked me in the face.

[Triple Zero]

it's always worth it to read through those immense chunks of text of yours, sepia. nice work!

[ not that i don't like reading immense chunks of text, but I already spend more than enough time on this forum ]

[The Littlest Ubermensch]

Holy shit dude.

Thank you.
I needed that.

[Jasper]

Are we all coming to the same place?

[Jenne]

Damn...more and thank you.

[B_M_W]

I really get lost in your stuff, Sepia.

(thats a compliment, btw)

[Sepia]

Heh, thanks all. Appreciate the funny and kind words.   

If anyone could be arsed, I'd also be interested in an interpretation or viewpoint or something similar.

I should have typed up something now but most of myself has been disabled due to excessive alcohol abuse. SOMEONE SHAT IN MY SOUL

[LHX]

interpretation:

frustration
restlessness
impatience

doesnt want to do the things he feels he has to do

still has habits he wants to kick

feels like something is wrong

intellectually notices a flaw in the "heroic dose" approach to things because a circle/cycle has been acknowledged

no more examples from which to learn because it is all uncharted territory from this point on




this point of view is very familiar and romantic
the candidness and whimsy in the writing style will compel people and make them root for you

but ultimately, writing about it is not going to get you out of the situation


loads of fun to read tho

the best art comes out of the worst situations

[Sepia]

One day LHX, I'll have your manbabies.