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My house was at the top of the hill and the beach was right there at its foot. I could see those huge rocks over there and I always promised myself I'd climb them and see if the air felt as misty as I thought it would, if the waves would soak me like I thought they would.
I got to hiking. The first one I ever climbed was great. The mist made my hair frizz and my feet touched the cold water. The next time I hiked up there I got to the second rock. I made out with someone there once. Had to pray the guilt away. There was a rock behind it, though. One that I couldn't see from my window back home. Fuck. It was bigger than me. Bigger than these other rocks. Smoother. Deeper into the ocean, yet hidden at the curve. From my window, it's tip blended with the others, but from here it was impressive. It had swag, yo. So perfect. So, when I'd feel like writing stories, or needed to be alone, I'd go sit on one of the sandy areas and look up at its glory. I'd never climb it. I'd never dare. I'd probably fall. I'd probably slip. I'd melt in the sun. I'd want to stay up there. No. It was too high for me, and that was just fine. It was enough to know it was there and to be allowed to sit there and stare with no interruptions. I went to visit this rock not long ago. I passed our old house and it was a lot smaller than I remembered. I climbed down the hill to the beach and it was a lot closer than I remembered. I got to the first rock and it was a lot shorter than I remembered. So was the second. And there it was. The other. It stood there as tall as I remembered. As smooth as I remembered. It was as fine, as elegant, as poised, confident, flirtatious, arrogant yet sweet, so unimpressed, yet so tempting, as special as I remembered. I swear it knows what I'm thinking. It knows. It looks down at me and makes these faces on purpose. And I didn't climb it again. And I won't climb it ever. Sometimes there are highs we will never reach and that's ok. That's why we write stories, and films, and songs. Some of us live life aiming high and getting what we want until we meet that rock and know we won't cheapen it. We'll just let it be. And it is. Right there. Its lashes giving shade to the sandy bottom and the world has never changed.
My house was at the top of the hill and the beach was right there at its foot. I could see those huge rocks over there and I always promised myself I'd climb them and see if the air felt as misty as I thought it would, if the waves would soak me like I thought they would.
I got to hiking. The first one I ever climbed was great. The mist made my hair frizz and my feet touched the cold water. The next time I hiked up there I got to the second rock. I made out with someone there once. Had to pray the guilt away. There was a rock behind it, though. One that I couldn't see from my window back home. Fuck. It was bigger than me. Bigger than these other rocks. Smoother. Deeper into the ocean, yet hidden at the curve. From my window, it's tip blended with the others, but from here it was impressive. It had swag, yo. So perfect. So, when I'd feel like writing stories, or needed to be alone, I'd go sit on one of the sandy areas and look up at its glory. I'd never climb it. I'd never dare. I'd probably fall. I'd probably slip. I'd melt in the sun. I'd want to stay up there. No. It was too high for me, and that was just fine. It was enough to know it was there and to be allowed to sit there and stare with no interruptions. I went to visit this rock not long ago. I passed our old house and it was a lot smaller than I remembered. I climbed down the hill to the beach and it was a lot closer than I remembered. I got to the first rock and it was a lot shorter than I remembered. So was the second. And there it was. The other. It stood there as tall as I remembered. As smooth as I remembered. It was as fine, as elegant, as poised, confident, flirtatious, arrogant yet sweet, so unimpressed, yet so tempting, as special as I remembered. I swear it knows what I'm thinking. It knows. It looks down at me and makes these faces on purpose. And I didn't climb it again. And I won't climb it ever. Sometimes there are highs we will never reach and that's ok. That's why we write stories, and films, and songs. Some of us live life aiming high and getting what we want until we meet that rock and know we won't cheapen it. We'll just let it be. And it is. Right there. Its lashes giving shade to the sandy bottom and the world has never changed.
CIJS? I'm a creep. I'm a weirdo.
This is so beautiful! I read your writing and to me it's like poetry. I want to publish it so everyone reads it. I want to save it for a rainy day, to read to myself because it takes me to another world. I think your words are poetry.
If I were to create self aware beings knowing fully what they would do in their lifetimes, I sure wouldn't create a HELL for the majority of them to live in infinitely! That's not Love, that's sadistic. Therefore a truly loving god does not exist!
Quote:The sin is against an infinite being (God) unforgiven infinitely, therefore the punishment is infinite.
Dead wrong. The actions of a finite being measured against an infinite one are infinitesimal and therefore merit infinitesimal punishment.
Quote:Some people deserve hell.
I say again: No exceptions. Punishment should be equal to the crime, not in excess of it. As soon as the punishment is greater than the crime, the punisher is in the wrong.
My house was at the top of the hill and the beach was right there at its foot. I could see those huge rocks over there and I always promised myself I'd climb them and see if the air felt as misty as I thought it would, if the waves would soak me like I thought they would.
I got to hiking. The first one I ever climbed was great. The mist made my hair frizz and my feet touched the cold water. The next time I hiked up there I got to the second rock. I made out with someone there once. Had to pray the guilt away. There was a rock behind it, though. One that I couldn't see from my window back home. Fuck. It was bigger than me. Bigger than these other rocks. Smoother. Deeper into the ocean, yet hidden at the curve. From my window, it's tip blended with the others, but from here it was impressive. It had swag, yo. So perfect. So, when I'd feel like writing stories, or needed to be alone, I'd go sit on one of the sandy areas and look up at its glory. I'd never climb it. I'd never dare. I'd probably fall. I'd probably slip. I'd melt in the sun. I'd want to stay up there. No. It was too high for me, and that was just fine. It was enough to know it was there and to be allowed to sit there and stare with no interruptions. I went to visit this rock not long ago. I passed our old house and it was a lot smaller than I remembered. I climbed down the hill to the beach and it was a lot closer than I remembered. I got to the first rock and it was a lot shorter than I remembered. So was the second. And there it was. The other. It stood there as tall as I remembered. As smooth as I remembered. It was as fine, as elegant, as poised, confident, flirtatious, arrogant yet sweet, so unimpressed, yet so tempting, as special as I remembered. I swear it knows what I'm thinking. It knows. It looks down at me and makes these faces on purpose. And I didn't climb it again. And I won't climb it ever. Sometimes there are highs we will never reach and that's ok. That's why we write stories, and films, and songs. Some of us live life aiming high and getting what we want until we meet that rock and know we won't cheapen it. We'll just let it be. And it is. Right there. Its lashes giving shade to the sandy bottom and the world has never changed.
CIJS? I'm a creep. I'm a weirdo.
This is so beautiful! I read your writing and to me it's like poetry. I want to publish it so everyone reads it. I want to save it for a rainy day, to read to myself because it takes me to another world. I think your words are poetry.
Bunny, you're a writer. I true writer. You say these things, because you love me. I love you, too.
And thank you. Coming from you, I'm flattered.
"Hipster is what happens when young hot people do what old ladies do." -Exian
No, I'm serious. Guys doesn't Ivy have an internal writers voice that just catches you and doesn't let go? Only true artists have that. I may write, but I don't have what you have, my dear. been trying to tell you that for years! Someone please explain?
If I were to create self aware beings knowing fully what they would do in their lifetimes, I sure wouldn't create a HELL for the majority of them to live in infinitely! That's not Love, that's sadistic. Therefore a truly loving god does not exist!
Quote:The sin is against an infinite being (God) unforgiven infinitely, therefore the punishment is infinite.
Dead wrong. The actions of a finite being measured against an infinite one are infinitesimal and therefore merit infinitesimal punishment.
Quote:Some people deserve hell.
I say again: No exceptions. Punishment should be equal to the crime, not in excess of it. As soon as the punishment is greater than the crime, the punisher is in the wrong.
July 2, 2017 at 10:41 am (This post was last modified: July 2, 2017 at 10:42 am by Edwardo Piet.)
(July 1, 2017 at 6:29 pm)Luckie Wrote:
(July 1, 2017 at 3:59 pm)J a c k Wrote:
My house was at the top of the hill and the beach was right there at its foot. I could see those huge rocks over there and I always promised myself I'd climb them and see if the air felt as misty as I thought it would, if the waves would soak me like I thought they would.
I got to hiking. The first one I ever climbed was great. The mist made my hair frizz and my feet touched the cold water. The next time I hiked up there I got to the second rock. I made out with someone there once. Had to pray the guilt away. There was a rock behind it, though. One that I couldn't see from my window back home. Fuck. It was bigger than me. Bigger than these other rocks. Smoother. Deeper into the ocean, yet hidden at the curve. From my window, it's tip blended with the others, but from here it was impressive. It had swag, yo. So perfect. So, when I'd feel like writing stories, or needed to be alone, I'd go sit on one of the sandy areas and look up at its glory. I'd never climb it. I'd never dare. I'd probably fall. I'd probably slip. I'd melt in the sun. I'd want to stay up there. No. It was too high for me, and that was just fine. It was enough to know it was there and to be allowed to sit there and stare with no interruptions. I went to visit this rock not long ago. I passed our old house and it was a lot smaller than I remembered. I climbed down the hill to the beach and it was a lot closer than I remembered. I got to the first rock and it was a lot shorter than I remembered. So was the second. And there it was. The other. It stood there as tall as I remembered. As smooth as I remembered. It was as fine, as elegant, as poised, confident, flirtatious, arrogant yet sweet, so unimpressed, yet so tempting, as special as I remembered. I swear it knows what I'm thinking. It knows. It looks down at me and makes these faces on purpose. And I didn't climb it again. And I won't climb it ever. Sometimes there are highs we will never reach and that's ok. That's why we write stories, and films, and songs. Some of us live life aiming high and getting what we want until we meet that rock and know we won't cheapen it. We'll just let it be. And it is. Right there. Its lashes giving shade to the sandy bottom and the world has never changed.
CIJS? I'm a creep. I'm a weirdo.
This is so beautiful! I read your writing and to me it's like poetry.
I agree completely. And I've said before that I do feel like the most beautiful people are living, walking, breathing poems in human form. And Ivy is one of them
(July 2, 2017 at 1:42 am)Luckie Wrote: No, I'm serious. Guys doesn't Ivy have an internal writers voice that just catches you and doesn't let go? Only true artists have that.
Absolutely! And a true artist is exactly what I have called her before!
Some people spend a lifetime of study to have what Ivy has. Writers forums would say the same, just sayin. Ivy I wish I could read your writing all day.
If I were to create self aware beings knowing fully what they would do in their lifetimes, I sure wouldn't create a HELL for the majority of them to live in infinitely! That's not Love, that's sadistic. Therefore a truly loving god does not exist!
Quote:The sin is against an infinite being (God) unforgiven infinitely, therefore the punishment is infinite.
Dead wrong. The actions of a finite being measured against an infinite one are infinitesimal and therefore merit infinitesimal punishment.
Quote:Some people deserve hell.
I say again: No exceptions. Punishment should be equal to the crime, not in excess of it. As soon as the punishment is greater than the crime, the punisher is in the wrong.
July 2, 2017 at 12:38 pm (This post was last modified: July 2, 2017 at 12:39 pm by J a c k.)
(July 2, 2017 at 12:10 pm)Luckie Wrote: Some people spend a lifetime of study to have what Ivy has. Writers forums would say the same, just sayin. Ivy I wish I could read your writing all day.
Awwwwwwww heart-fucking-melt!
And to think I was just trying to explain "out of my league" when my Tijuana beach memories came to mind. Thank you for reading my thoughts always and taking the time to comment. It means so much, sweet luckie.
(July 2, 2017 at 10:41 am)Hammy Wrote:
(July 1, 2017 at 6:29 pm)Luckie Wrote: This is so beautiful! I read your writing and to me it's like poetry.
I agree completely. And I've said before that I do feel like the most beautiful people are living, walking, breathing poems in human form. And Ivy is one of them
(July 2, 2017 at 1:42 am)Luckie Wrote: No, I'm serious. Guys doesn't Ivy have an internal writers voice that just catches you and doesn't let go? Only true artists have that.
Absolutely! And a true artist is exactly what I have called her before!
Thank you, darling! You're too kind to me. Love you!
"Hipster is what happens when young hot people do what old ladies do." -Exian
CIJS- if I haven't answered my phone, my door, or your obnoxious knocking on my bedroom window it's safe to say that I don't fucking want to talk to you. It is insane that I have to turn out my lights and pretend I'm not home as if the Jehovah's witnesses were in town to get any fucking peace in the privacy of my own god damned house. No, I don't want to play cards with you. No, I won't take you to the store at 5am for more beer. No. No. Please leave me alone.
(August 21, 2017 at 11:31 pm)KevinM1 Wrote: "I'm not a troll"
Religious Views: He gay
0/10
Hammy Wrote:and we also have a sheep on our bed underneath as well
(July 2, 2017 at 10:09 pm)Losty Wrote: CIJS- if I haven't answered my phone, my door, or your obnoxious knocking on my bedroom window it's safe to say that I don't fucking want to talk to you. It is insane that I have to turn out my lights and pretend I'm not home as if the Jehovah's witnesses were in town to get any fucking peace in the privacy of my own god damned house. No, I don't want to play cards with you. No, I won't take you to the store at 5am for more beer. No. No. Please leave me alone.
I'll just wait quietly in the passenger seat of your vehicle.
Being told you're delusional does not necessarily mean you're mental.
Can I just say, and I'm just being honest...
![[Image: tumblr_n1j4lmACk61qchtw3o1_500.gif]](https://66.media.tumblr.com/5fb74c6d16622fb3dbb358509c9aec03/tumblr_n1j4lmACk61qchtw3o1_500.gif)
