TDM's thoughts and rants thread

[The Dark Monk]

I wake up in the morning, blanket pulled over my head, smelling my stale breath. Slight remnants of a dream still flickering in my head, I desperately try to sleep again, to continue the story of my subconscious. No cigar. Stretching, aching, I pull myself from the couch not really knowing where I am, bumping into walls and missing the chair I sit in every day for at least 8 hours. Rubbing my eyes with year old daily contacts, the slight itchiness makes them water, a small ping of feeling that totally rips me from the fantasy of my now racing exhausted mind. Dreams back in dreamland, reality hits. I walk outside, light up a menthol cigarette, take a puff, and realize I don't have my normal song playing so loud that others in the apartment building can hear it, and quickly drop the smoke to turn it on. Heart racing a little bit from the sudden burst of excitement, the high point of my day over in a matter of seconds, I walk outside and finish the cig, a small burnt spot on the cheaply painted 2nd story balcony floor. I should take a jog, but I feel like crap. Still tired but knowing I'll feel like that all day, I slowly walk back into the apartment and plop myself in the chair, ripping another seam in the cushion. Oh well.
This chair is ruined already, what's another missing thread?
My hand and the mouse make contact, smoothened now from constant use, moving slowly and in jerked motions from the dirt and grime from too much use. I play a few games, say hi to a couple friends on an instant messenger. I descend into a game chatroom where idiots make jokes about your mother and how everyone who is better than them hacks. Sickened and bored of this idiotic chat, but not knowing of anything else better, I watch the screen for hours, looking at the time bar in the bottom right every minute or two, time grudgingly shifting to the next minute, next hour, am, pm. Not having eaten anything since the sun rose, now setting, I muster up enough confidence to toss some ramen in the microwave, all the while looking at the chat screen sitting there, flooded with spam and insults. Disgusting really. The microwave beeps, I quickly lift the foam cup out of the microwave placed higher than my head, spill some boiling water on my hand, cringe, then sit back down in the ripping chair.
All of a sudden in the back of my mind, a voice louder than the constant irritations constantly flowing, yells

HEY. YOU. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?
I try to dismiss it, but it seems to get louder, drowning out everything else.
YOU HATE THIS SHIT. WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING IT? ISN'T THIS BORING, MENIAL, ABOUT AS FUN AS A JOB SHOVELLING MANURE?
Lalalalalalalala! I try to cover my senses like imaginary hands covering ears, pretending I can't hear it.
I'M NOT GOING ANYWHERE YOU STUBBORN ASS. YOU BETTER LISTEN NOW, AND LISTEN DAMN GOOD.
GET OFF YOUR ASS. DO SOMETHING YOU ACTUALLY ENJOY. WRITE, I KNOW YOU HAVE SOME GOOD STUFF IN HERE BECAUSE WELL, I'M IN HERE. GO JOG, DRAW A PICTURE, MEET A GIRL, DO SOMETHING YOU LAZY FUCK.
Not wanting to get up out of my chair, I decide to research something I have never heard of, just google something. Anything, get some information. I joked around and searched for anarchy, went to a few sites. A dictionary and thesauraus popped up on the screen, I clicked it and typed in chaos. It gave the definition, a few historical pictures, and some synonyms which for some reason I don't remember, I started typing in google yet again. Maybe it was to relieve boredom. Probably that. I typed in Discord because it was the most interesting of the synonyms flashed on the screen, and started clicking websites.

WELCOME TO OUR FNORD.
What the fuck? What is a fnord? This has to be some stupid retard shit some noob put on the internet. I shouldn't even read this.

READ IT. YOU HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO YOU LAZY FUCK.
That voice again, don't know why I listened to it. Insulting, how can I insult myself? Oh well, it's right. I'll check into this more. I clicked "Read the Book" and spent about 10 minutes skimming through it, laughing at the old styled drawings, the funny words, then closed it. I was tired, I layed back down on the couch, stared at the ceiling until morning came, repeating the morning routine. I sat down in the chair, ripping yet another stitch, cursing, placed my hand on the mouse, and took a look at the screen. I had forgotten to shut off my computer the night before, and that silly page was still open.I read it again, taking in the quotes, the graphs, the stories. I was very intrigued. I read it again. And again. I couldn't stop reading it, I was having fun! The ideas were ridiculus! They didn't make sense, and the less they did, the more I was intrigued! I finished reading it one last time, returned to the main page, and saw "The Black Iron Prison". I soaked it in like a sponge, reading it 3 times. THINK FOR YOUSELF SCHMUCK! it stuck in my mind.
I was sick and tired of the routine. I hated the repetitive cycle, the unending blast of BLEGH. Sick of self deception in this cycle.

It was that day I started jogging.

The Dark Monk
Painting the Prison Bars Gold

[Cramulus]

This is a story of how you found our weird little tribe?

Good read

could use some paragraph breaks

who is your target audience?

[Manta Obscura]

I wake up in the morning, blanket pulled over my head, smelling my stale breath. Slight remnants of a dream still flickering in my head, I desperately try to sleep again, to continue the story of my subconscious. No cigar. Stretching, aching, I pull myself from the couch not really knowing where I am, bumping into walls and missing the chair I sit in every day for at least 8 hours. Rubbing my eyes with year old daily contacts, the slight itchiness makes them water, a small ping of feeling that totally rips me from the fantasy of my now racing exhausted mind. Dreams back in dreamland, reality hits. I walk outside, light up a menthol cigarette, take a puff, and realize I don't have my normal song playing so loud that others in the apartment building can hear it, and quickly drop the smoke to turn it on. Heart racing a little bit from the sudden burst of excitement, the high point of my day over in a matter of seconds, I walk outside and finish the cig, a small burnt spot on the cheaply painted 2nd story balcony floor. I should take a jog, but I feel like crap. Still tired but knowing I'll feel like that all day, I slowly walk back into the apartment and plop myself in the chair, ripping another seam in the cushion. Oh well.
This chair is ruined already, what's another missing thread?
My hand and the mouse make contact, smoothened now from constant use, moving slowly and in jerked motions from the dirt and grime from too much use. I play a few games, say hi to a couple friends on an instant messenger. I descend into a game chatroom where idiots make jokes about your mother and how everyone who is better than them hacks. Sickened and bored of this idiotic chat, but not knowing of anything else better, I watch the screen for hours, looking at the time bar in the bottom right every minute or two, time grudgingly shifting to the next minute, next hour, am, pm. Not having eaten anything since the sun rose, now setting, I muster up enough confidence to toss some ramen in the microwave, all the while looking at the chat screen sitting there, flooded with spam and insults. Disgusting really. The microwave beeps, I quickly lift the foam cup out of the microwave placed higher than my head, spill some boiling water on my hand, cringe, then sit back down in the ripping chair.
All of a sudden in the back of my mind, a voice louder than the constant irritations constantly flowing, yells

HEY. YOU. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?
I try to dismiss it, but it seems to get louder, drowning out everything else.
YOU HATE THIS SHIT. WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING IT? ISN'T THIS BORING, MENIAL, ABOUT AS FUN AS A JOB SHOVELLING MANURE?
Lalalalalalalala! I try to cover my senses like imaginary hands covering ears, pretending I can't hear it.
I'M NOT GOING ANYWHERE YOU STUBBORN ASS. YOU BETTER LISTEN NOW, AND LISTEN DAMN GOOD.
GET OFF YOUR ASS. DO SOMETHING YOU ACTUALLY ENJOY. WRITE, I KNOW YOU HAVE SOME GOOD STUFF IN HERE BECAUSE WELL, I'M IN HERE. GO JOG, DRAW A PICTURE, MEET A GIRL, DO SOMETHING YOU LAZY FUCK.
Not wanting to get up out of my chair, I decide to research something I have never heard of, just google something. Anything, get some information. I joked around and searched for anarchy, went to a few sites. A dictionary and thesauraus popped up on the screen, I clicked it and typed in chaos. It gave the definition, a few historical pictures, and some synonyms which for some reason I don't remember, I started typing in google yet again. Maybe it was to relieve boredom. Probably that. I typed in Discord because it was the most interesting of the synonyms flashed on the screen, and started clicking websites.

WELCOME TO OUR FNORD.
What the fuck? What is a fnord? This has to be some stupid retard shit some noob put on the internet. I shouldn't even read this.

READ IT. YOU HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO YOU LAZY FUCK.
That voice again, don't know why I listened to it. Insulting, how can I insult myself? Oh well, it's right. I'll check into this more. I clicked "Read the Book" and spent about 10 minutes skimming through it, laughing at the old styled drawings, the funny words, then closed it. I was tired, I layed back down on the couch, stared at the ceiling until morning came, repeating the morning routine. I sat down in the chair, ripping yet another stitch, cursing, placed my hand on the mouse, and took a look at the screen. I had forgotten to shut off my computer the night before, and that silly page was still open.I read it again, taking in the quotes, the graphs, the stories. I was very intrigued. I read it again. And again. I couldn't stop reading it, I was having fun! The ideas were ridiculus! They didn't make sense, and the less they did, the more I was intrigued! I finished reading it one last time, returned to the main page, and saw "The Black Iron Prison". I soaked it in like a sponge, reading it 3 times. THINK FOR YOUSELF SCHMUCK! it stuck in my mind.
I was sick and tired of the routine. I hated the repetitive cycle, the unending blast of BLEGH. Sick of self deception in this cycle.

It was that day I started jogging.

The Dark Monk
Painting the Prison Bars Gold

This is good, Monk. It reminds me of one of the stories of enlightenment that are all the rage in Zen circles.

[The Dark Monk]

Yeah, it could use some editing. I'm thinking of cleaning it up, adding breaks, etc.
I hadn't really thought of a target audience, I sort of just let it pour out, because i started sinking into a cycle again, a reminder to myself and maybe anyone else who is just sick and tired of the same routine, the same thoughts, the massive stagnation.
I'll need some help on the paragraph breaks and other grammatical errors I know I made, because well, I'm a high school dropout and I missed a bunch of learning when shit was really going down in my life.

Thanks for the good comments, hoped you enjoyed it, I might just write another sometime

[Manta Obscura]

Dark Monk,

I'm bored, so I went ahead and did a quick edit for you. Everything looked pretty good before, but I made paragraph breaks at the start of new action transitions. Also, about partway through the original, you switch from present tense to past tense, and I have altered your verbs to be all present-tense (except for the last three sentences, which are reflective upon the rest of the story, and have thus been left unaltered). The only other things I've changed/added were a few words here and there (e.g. I changed "confidence" to "energy" in Graph 6), and the addition of a few commas for ease-of-reading purposes.

Hope this helps.

I wake up in the morning, blanket pulled over my head, smelling my stale breath. Slight remnants of a dream still flickering in my head. I desperately try to sleep again, to continue the story of my subconscious. No cigar.

Stretching, aching, I pull myself from the couch, not really knowing where I am, bumping into walls and missing the chair I sit in every day for at least eight hours. Rubbing my eyes with year-old daily contacts, the slight itchiness makes them water, a small ping of feeling that totally rips me from the fantasy of my now-racing, exhausted mind. Dreams back in dreamland, reality hits.

I walk outside, light up a menthol cigarette, take a puff, and realize I don't have my normal song playing so loud that others in the apartment building can hear it, and quickly drop the smoke to turn it on. Heart racing a little bit from the sudden burst of excitement, the high point of my day over in a matter of seconds, I walk outside and finish the cig, a small burnt spot on the cheaply painted 2nd story balcony floor. I should take a jog, but I feel like crap.

Still tired but knowing I'll feel like that all day, I slowly walk back into the apartment and plop myself in the chair, ripping another seam in the cushion. Oh well.

This chair is ruined already, what's another missing thread?

My hand and the mouse make contact, smoothed-down now from constant use, moving slowly and in jerked motions from the dirt and grime of too much use. I play a few games, say "hi" to a couple friends on an instant messenger. I descend into a game chatroom where idiots make jokes about your mother and how everyone who is better than them hacks. Sickened and bored of this idiotic chat but not knowing of anything else better, I watch the screen for hours, looking at the time bar in the bottom right every minute or two, time grudgingly shifting to the next minute, next hour, am, pm. Not having eaten anything since the sun rose, now setting, I muster up enough energy to toss some ramen in the microwave, all the while looking at the chat screen sitting there, flooded with spam and insults. Disgusting really.

The microwave beeps. I quickly lift the foam cup out of the microwave placed higher than my head, spill some boiling water on my hand, cringe, then sit back down in the ripping chair.

All of a sudden in the back of my mind, a voice louder than the constant irritations constantly flowing, yells

HEY. YOU. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?

I try to dismiss it, but it seems to get louder, drowning out everything else.

YOU HATE THIS SHIT. WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING IT? ISN'T THIS BORING, MENIAL, ABOUT AS FUN AS A JOB SHOVELLING MANURE?

Lalalalalalalala! I try to cover my senses like imaginary hands covering ears, pretending I can't hear it.

I'M NOT GOING ANYWHERE, YOU STUBBORN ASS. YOU BETTER LISTEN NOW, AND LISTEN DAMN GOOD. GET OFF YOUR ASS. DO SOMETHING YOU ACTUALLY ENJOY. WRITE. I KNOW YOU HAVE SOME GOOD STUFF IN HERE BECAUSE, WELL, I'M IN HERE. GO JOG, DRAW A PICTURE, MEET A GIRL, DO SOMETHING YOU LAZY FUCK.

Not wanting to get up out of my chair, I decide to research something I have never heard of, just Google something, anything, to get some information. I joke around and search for anarchy, go to a few sites. A dictionary and thesauraus pop up on the screen. I click it and type in "chaos." It gives the definition, a few historical pictures, and some synonyms which, for some reason, I don't remember, I start typing in Google yet again. Maybe it's to relieve boredom. Probably that. I type in "Discord" because it was the most interesting of the synonyms flashed on the screen, and I start clicking websites.

WELCOME TO OUR FNORD.

What the fuck? What is a fnord? This has to be some stupid retard shit some noob put on the internet. I shouldn't even read this.

READ IT. YOU HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO YOU LAZY FUCK.

That voice again, don't know why I listened to it. Insulting. How can I insult myself? Oh well, it's right. I'll check into this more.

I click "Read the Book" and spend about 10 minutes skimming through it, laughing at the old styled drawings and funny words, and then close it. I'm tired. I lay back on the couch, stare at the ceiling until morning comes, repeating the morning routine.

I sit down in the chair, ripping yet another stitch, cursing. I place my hand on the mouse and take a look at the screen. I had forgotten to shut off my computer the night before, and that silly page is still open. I read it again, taking in the quotes, the graphs, the stories. I'm very intrigued. I read it again. And again. I can't stop reading it; I'm having fun! The ideas are ridiculous! They don't make sense, and the less they do, the more I'm intrigued!

I finish reading it one last time, return to the main page, and see "The Black Iron Prison". I soak it in like a sponge, reading it 3 times. THINK FOR YOUSELF SCHMUCK! is stuck in my mind.

I was sick and tired of the routine. I hated the repetitive cycle, the unending blast of BLEGH! Sick of self-deception in this cycle.

It was that day I started jogging.

~The Dark Monk
  Painting the Prison Bars Gold

[The Dark Monk]

Thanks a lot Manta, will be changing the original to that soon, after I reread it and make sure I didn't leave anything out. It's much appreciated. Giving you credit for the edit, ofc

[East Coast Hustle]

good story.

I like your writing "voice".

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

That was quite nice.

[Triple Zero]

well-written! after the first bit--which i skimmed a littlebit cause i feel a bit shitty myself right now--it really took up pace and pulled me right through!

you didn't answer cram's question, is that really how you found us? cause i like that story, how it happened semi-randomly, that's how i found discordia as well (except over the course of a several years).

one thing is, when i read that last sentence, i thought shouldn't it be "painting the prison bars golden"? or is that just a stylistic matter..

[Kai]

While your internet blind addiction ended when you found Discordia, thats when mine began.

Liked this alot.

[The Dark Monk]

Lol yes this is how I found discordia

[Manta Obscura]

one thing is, when i read that last sentence, i thought shouldn't it be "painting the prison bars golden"? or is that just a stylistic matter..

"Gold" is the more accurate of the two, since "golden" is usually used as an adjective, and it usually means, non-contextually, "consisting of gold." A similar analogy is "Painting the bars silver," compared to "painting the bars silvery."

Just fyi.

Manta,
a total language nerd in the mornings

[The Dark Monk]

Fear

I think about a life outside, something most people enjoy. I feel angsty about that thought, the sun burns my eyes. It makes my skin feel hot, and my hands shake. People walking towards me on the street make me nervous. I don't live in a bad area, but I step off of the sidewalk and let them pass, gripping some knuckles in my pocket. I watch as they continue forward, leaving me behind without a second thought.

This gripping fear of people, where does it stem from? I have had some rough experiences in my childhood and teenage years, from simple fights which I never started to having guns waved angrily in my face, again, something which I have never provoked.

I have moved into a different area since then, a richer neighborhood, one you shouldn't have to have something in your pocket for when you walk. The people are nice, they say hello, god bless you, and greet you with mostly warm intentions and not being rude, but I shrink away, staring at the ground and mumbling a greeting back. Quickly walking until there is noone in front of me and they're far enough away behind, I slow down and think of the danger I could have been in.

I go to the mall on Saturday, the busiest day for obvious reasons, and cover myself up completely. I hide my face behind a hood, long enough sleeves to where you cannot see my hands, long pants and of course, not open toed shoes. Somebody bumps into me, I flash to anger and fear. I stand in the middle watching them walk away, obviously not even realizing they did something wrong, laughing with their friend or relative as if it isn't a big deal. Again, I slink away, into a corner where there is no traffic and sit down.

This is not acceptable. You cannot live your life in fear. This detriment to happiness in any occasion brings down the quality and meaning of what these situations should be. How do I overcome these habits? This crushing weight of anxiety? I have reached a point where the fear has become so strong that I cannot hold a job, I cannot go to school. I cannot hang out in groups. I must single someone out for conversation or be left out.

I think to myself, just go out into the world. You'll get used to it eventually. Everybody does right?

TDM- I realize it, but how can I fix it?

[Kai]

Something that works for me:


Everyone else is so caught up in their own life and their own problems that they will likely not even notice you, much less think about you, the way you look or the choices you make in life. You can do most anything and as long as they get to keep their BIP intact they won't care. In fact, most people care so LITTLE, that its not even worth considering.

[Lies]

This gripping fear of people, where does it stem from? I have had some rough experiences in my childhood and teenage years, from simple fights which I never started to having guns waved angrily in my face, again, something which I have never provoked.

It sounds like a part of your problem is anxiety issues bruvva...
There is good news and bad news.
Bad news is, anxiety issues can be a bit of a bitch to fix.
Good news is,  there are a few things you can do about this, and its definitely treatable...

See, I could probably get a bit more in depth about this, but I don't have the patience at the moment to do that much typing.
So, in short, I recommend googling "Approach Anxiety" and see if that doesn't lead you anywhere useful...