KarmaOfChaos

[color=deeppink] Ah yes. The age-old epic battle between the male and female psyche, as Mars and Venus constantly quarrely in their circl'd orbs. Lol, just kidding. I know exactly the type of guy you're talking about Artemis. Unfortunatly, they're quite common in the world, especially in the teenage one, as the harmones start raging. But why bother even worrying about them? They're not getting my attention, nor my body. They make fools only of themselves, showing how very sad they are when they talk like that. Advise your friends to stay away from them, at least romantically, until they grow up. Don't waste your time insulting them, or giving them any attention. It only adds to their ego. Soon enough they'll see that being an arrogant bastard isn't going to cut it. Some girls may give them attention, they may indeed get laid, but in the end, how much is that really worth? They're not looking for love, merely sexual gratification. Living life like that will only leave you empty and wanting more. Like HC said, many guys get confidence and arrogance confused. It's their fault if they cross that line. They'll learn. Basically, I agree with James. Devote yourself to one person. Love them with all your heart, and make sure that person adores you in the same way. The only way a relationship will truly work, and both people will be happy, is if there is equality and love. Sex is just icing on the cake. Don't bother with guys that just want to lick the icing off and leave. ;) -Karma [/color]

[color=deeppink] That was beautiful Arasoi. I am awed. [/color] [QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Arasoi [/i][color=royal blue] [b][u]Goodbye[/b][/u] [i]I cannot feel your presence here Your tender love has disappeared Depression locked in misery Only death can set me free Life?s a weight to hold me down In this suffering I drown[/i] [/color][/quote][color=deeppink] Your love is gone, and without that, life isn't worth it. Death becomes a way to escape, a freedom from the endless pain love wrought you. [/color][quote][color=royal blue][i] And after all you?ve put me through I?m losing everything I knew Lost in my world of tears and hate It?s up to you to choose my fate Do I live or do I die Is it my time to say goodbye? [/i][/color][/quote][color=deeppink] You leave it up to him to decide whether or not you will go on, because frankly, you're just too damn tired of this. You make it his choice whether or not he forsakes you completly. How can it be that you can?t see [/color][quote][color=royal blue][i] All the pain you bring to me I?m lost in shadow on my own Trapped in darkness all alone My death approaches ever fast I don?t know how long I can last [/i][/color][/quote][color=deeppink] You're running out of time, feeling yourself losing it more every single moment you're alive. You want him, need him to realize this. You need him to make a desicion. [/color][quote][color=royal blue][i] Was all this of your own intent? Or is it me who must repent? The knife will not cease to persist It?s up to you to slit my wrist Do I live or do I die Is it my time to say goodbye? [/i][/color][/quote][color=deeppink] I suppose the first two lines can be interrepted two different ways. One, that perhaps you blame yourself for this, for taking it the wrong way. Or two, you wonder if it was his intention to do this in the first place, to kill you, or is it your job to decide? Then the stanza goes on, again giving him the choice. [/color][quote][color=royal blue][i] Betrayal and your selfish lies Darkness in the light?s disguise Your life to which my soul is bound This tragedy is most profound All I believed in was untrue Yet my heart stays attached to you [/i][/color][/quote][color=deeppink] This is my favorite stanza. It says so much with so few words. The first line implies that this is indeed his fault, that you are fallen because of his own selfishness. The second line is simply great imagery and use of words. And then you go to say how even though he's done all this to you, you can't let go. You still hold on to that. [/color][quote][color=royal blue][i] The redeeming gift of suicide After all the tears I?ve cried There?s nothing left for me to do But put all of my faith in you Do I live or do I die Is it my time to say goodbye?[/i] [/color][/QUOTE][color=deeppink] A dark ending, that leaves you thinking. Will he chose to inadvertently kill you or save you? This was a great poem Arasoi, and excellently written. I'm glad you're back. ^-^ -Karma [/color]

[color=deeppink] [b]Her - Part III[/b] Her - Part III Falling to the floor The stone cracks and quietly shatters Spilling watery tears And none of this matters anymore. Eyes wide open in shock Staring eternally, frozen in that one moment Frozen in death. Breath escapes forever, no longer lent To those people living on lost time Living in an illusion That never belonged to them. A fatal dye, the blood pools For such deluded mortal fools As these were. Now fallen upon the floor Ignorance was their final sin As her sleepless ghost pierces beneath the skin They were blind to their loss of sight. They lived forever in that waking sleep But now evermore shall they keep The dream that eluded them In death it was found Screaming hell without a sound. And now as the dead leaves fall again Waiting for a time when She will return to her catacombs And finally rest her muderous soul Fate's twist A cold, blinding mist They are dead Dead in their beds Dead on the cold stone floor. She walks among them Their sweetly sleeping bodies That spoke of sick and twisted death Her smile portrays a haunting whisper Of the sin she killed here Of the people who's bodies spoke of death. She who had left this town This sleepless place of dulled insanity The longing look in her eyes They who she hated and despised Swearing on those holy words Her spirit returned Killing them all swiftly in the blink of a child's eyes. She stood leaning in the chapel Covered in blood She reeked of the death and the sins Of those people Sinner or saint? As the bells rang, so quaint Guilty for killing But a nescessary justice For you cannot rape the willing. This town full of sanguine sin This town full of sleepless dreamers The flesh is eaten away by starving maggots Revealing the truth and pale bone And the church bells rang alone For it was tonight That those who were already dead Died for the first time in the waning moonlight. Will she now return Found what you yearn Lighted, flickering candles lined up in little rows As the blood stops its eternal flow. Her spirit waits For the resting place of our ancestors For her body to return She waits to die among the people In the catacombs of sin. [b]Elation[/b] I felt her in my hands Like some tool of great mechaniation A method of freedom A way to achieve the highest elation The metallic edges glowed softly Under the pale light of moon And with bitter whispers she spoke to me Telling me it would be soon I felt her words, the sickly sweet darts They lie encased in her revolving mouth Waiting to pierce, waiting to spread Waiting to end this misery in the south. And I saw you painted on the walls On the insides of my brain With angry, hating red That slowly raped me, full of pain You were there, staring With those dulled, forsaken eyes Waiting for the next angry word To give you your next high. And with such glorious elation With blissful, weeping joy Aiming the sharp words back at you Her lips opened and I ended the ploy Whirring softly through the quiet hour Her words entered your skull And blew out your bleeding, infected mess And painted a picture, all gray and dull. Just like you had used my emotions like your canvas So too did she and I use your head As you lay, artfully destroyed, carved and mutliated In the cold hard street that was now your bed. I saw the severed flesh and cracked, pale bone I saw the beautiful picture she and I had painted And it filled me with such ethereal elation The sanguine chaos we had created All across the ground. After I had stared for what forever called eternity As the happiness floated away I wished for another moment of ecstacy A screaming orgasm, as night became day. Rising like a burning pendant In the darkness of dawn I put her quietly to my head Pressing, the sun slowly yawned. Because, you know, one is the loniliest number But this was an elation known only alone Because she did not truly feel this. Liking talking to yourself on the phone Never dialed a number, just spoke. 1-1=0 And if there is none Lonliness no longer existing or created Like the darkness being burned away by the sun First it was us three She and you and I But together we killed you And she is really I. So there was only 1. And rather than sit here in this empty numbness I'd awe in wonder as she came one last time To my quaking, shaking head. Leaving this world So I might feel that elation one last time Joyful tears spilled down my face She is the exalted poet, penetrating her rhymes. Revalation, revolution is the solution Forget any contemplation Do not act on your mind's hestation This is the final elation. Now do you feel the elevation? And her words pierced my ears; And there was none. [b]Shattered Pieces[/b] Crash. Bang. Crack. Shatter. That was my life. That was my life you've dropped there on the floor. Look at all the shattered pieces The shattered pieces of my life That you made. Like a picture. A sharp, stinging, bitter picture. I didn't realize I was so fragile. I didn't know I had put so much faith in you. Now I know. Because of all the shattered pieces You've dropped there on the floor. Shattered pieces that cut deep Blood seeps Killed by my own fragility Killed by my foolish faith Shattered pieces lie there on the floor A bloody, bitter picture. Shattered pieces in the mirror Broken reflection of what once was Now distorted and disturbed Destroyed by your hands As you pounded with your angry fists. The mirror tells no lies I am as shattered as that mirror. Feel them dig deep These shattered pieces Deep into my wrists Shattered pieces dip into my red life Drink and you shall be full. Drink my life That you shattered apart You shattered the ribs To get to the heart So now that you have me Drink deep. Drink deep from the shattered pieces of my life. [b]Sleeper[/b] Sleeping, my love, do not wake me For waking dreams can never be A dream so deep Cascading, breathing sleep I am the sleeper I am the dreamer Awake my dreams shall fade away As if they had not been this way As if they had not been A child's whim Gone forever to opened eyes. So love, leave me lying here Do not worry, do not fear But join in me in this endless dream Sown together without the seams. Caught in the whisper of children Forevermore forgotten, nightmare's den Tempered radical, sleeper's cry Sleeper's sigh As slowly, I die Yet with bursting, bleeding, beauty The dream explodes again Sleeper's tragedy is so wonderful That I might wonder if that wasn't really that at all. So lover, stay here with me Stay with me and you'll finally see How beautiful the dream was And many shall become one One shall become none As we sleep together Forever In this endless ecstacy. [b]This Time[/b] Again, like a broken record Full of static and a forgotten tune So I deluded myself again Thinking that this might be true. All that I wanted That one simple thing It seems it was too much to ask for Like a kept promise ring. Now I play the fool again But there's no acting on my part Punished for my searching For my silly bleeding heart. But this time I won't fall I refuse to succumb to my own foolish desires This time I won't give it away Now that I've learned that to be burnt is to touch the fire. This time I won't be that silly girl I won't be that naive fool If loneliness is where I'm bound Then silence will be my tool. This time I won't hope I'll take nothing on faith or assumptions Because the cold hard truth is These things only lead to self-destruction. And even if this hurts Even if not caring kills me I won't make the same mistake Of wanting something that wasn't meant to be This time I would rather be cold and dead I would rather be a machine Then be hurt like this again. This time I swear I'll forget this ever was I'll erase the thought of love Alone I'll stay, because, I won't do this again. That is one long post. XD -Karma [/color]

[color=deeppink] Lol, quite unique Charles. You take an interesting standpoint on 'the sitcom.' And I have to agree with you, those sickly sweet shows of family morals don't exist in reality, no one ever has one of those 'family temper tantrums' where five minutes later everyone apologizes and da de de da de dum, everything's hunky dory. People aren't perfect, and they weren't meant to be. So it stands to reason that a show that is much more in touch with reality is going to last a lot longer, because a far greater number of people can relate to it. I thought it was well-written and had a great focus. I'd like to see more of your work. ^-^ -Karma PS: Lovely avatar. * snicker * [/color]

[color=deeppink] I've had bad relationships with my immediate family for a long time. I hold a lot of bitter resentment against them for what they've done, and the there's a great part of me that refuses to forgive them. I know it's wrong of me to hold this against them, to be so angry, but it is an emotion I cannot help but feel. However, I'd rather be honest about how I feel now, and not shove it inside, so that as time goes on I'll be able to come to terms with it. My other relatives, however, have been my life support. My second family is in California, with my aunt. I wouldn't have made it this far without her love. So I suppose a family can make you and break you. One family member's kind words can make you feel absolutely wonderful, and in the same stroke another member can tear you to shreads, and destroy your self-esteem. In the end, it comes down to the individual, not the family as a whole. Although granted, there are certain ties that blood and living with people create, thoses ties can also be broken, if the hatred is strong enough. I try to stay as close as possible to the people I love in my family, like my aunt, grandmother, and brother, and in time I believe I will come to love, if not trust, my parents again. Maybe someday we'll be a whole family again, but right now, I'm happy with what I have. -Karma [/color]

[color=deeppink] What a question. As Ken and James said, it's something different for each person, and everyone bases their idea of love on their own experience and knowledge. It cannot be broadly defined, nor should it be. Of course, over the passage of time, there have been general themes of love that people have talked and written about, like infatuation, or just a platonic love, or perhaps that deeper meaning, which is different for so many people. Love is discussed and pondered over in the desire to share what it means to people. And in this manner, we often find that certain things are common in almost everyone's definition of love. But, in the end, it cannot really be said what love is. -Karma [/color]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Mitch [/i] The old man laughs. [i]Hahahahah[/i] His long beard falls on his face, all white as bone. As white as snow. "It has been snowin' for all dese days 'cause I made it. Hahahaha." He puts his hand on my shoulder. "Ya knows...lets me lets you in on a t'ing. Snow ain't so bad, me boy. It's only as bad as ya make 'er. So I want you to go out there with yer hands all in a no'dle, an' I want ya to make a snow angle in teh snow. Make 'im a be'tiful li'l t'ing too. Even give 'em real feat'ers fer wings and real eyes." [/quote] [color=deeppink] Interesting introduction. The old man's speech gives a strange feel to the beginning of the piece, and just a little sinister. A hidden meaning behind the innocent discussion of snow. [/color][quote] It's been two days in a row now. It's snowed off and on endlessly, the demure white coming down in its little drivels, like tears crystallized from some cloud's eye. Like a confetti parade for the devil. [/quote][color=deeppink] Nice way to set the scene. The last line is amazing...It really stands out beautifully. [/color][quote] I go outside. The snow is pouring down in its little lazy way, a sloth too sloppy to know any better. I can see Santa outside the window, and I can hear him shouting at me, his ripe, wrinkled cheeks held against the window, making it look like his face is all squeezed. All I can hear of what he's saying is a going on and on mumble mumble, mumble mumble. I stare at him for a while, then it's off to work. I fall into the snow, the cold white grasping all around my body like a coat. I move my hands back and forth, back and forth. The snow bends to my will, and it is scraped off in the arcs my hands create. Moving my legs, I make the bottom arcs which serve as legs. The feeling of being in control of the snow, of making whatever I want of it is there. I've made an angel. A beautiful little scapegoat, as white as wool. [i]The flesh of fallen angels[/i] [/quote][color=deeppink] The angel becomes the scapegoat, the flesh of fallen angels is the mess which we blame everything on. The innocent are blamed. [/color][quote] Something frail, something white, something faded. I look at it, and images of the clang of a church bell ding in my head. Images of a cross. Images of a candle burning, like a soul skinned to the bone. [/quote][color=deeppink] Wonderful imagery. Once again, the last line is really profound. [/color][quote] It's just like the weather to me. Just like snow. It melts. It changes. It's based on faith. Based on something I don't believe exists. It's just like the snow angel I've made. It is only there, but it means nothing to me. [/quote][color=deeppink] The way the story progresses here is interesting, you never state that you are talking about religion, it must be realized that you are. The religious imagery leads to the idea of religion, and henceforth rejection of it. Nice metaphor between snow and religion. [/color][quote] All these countless hours of sitting in a church. All these countless hours of learning and knowing and caring and getting to understand. And even through it, all I can see is time trickling in its rivulets, like a river that's slowly drying up. When someone dies, they are gone. Just like this angel I've made. Just like faith dying. Just like anything dying. Everything dies. [i]Everything dies[/i] [/quote][color=deeppink] Time is wasted praying and believing. In the end, your time is gone, and you are dead. An unquestioned eventuality, death is the fate of all things. And meanwhile, we spend our time praying and believing, searching for an escape while death draws ever closer. You portray well how pointless our efforts really are. [/color][quote] It's the universal thought that springs into my head each and every day, a mad psycho with an even madder knife. And all I have is the pure things. Well, the pure things I haven't turned my back on. [/quote][color=deeppink] A hint of bitter sarcasm? Perhaps. [/color][quote] I can see Santa Clause looking at me through a window in some room of my mind. Some mish and mash of memories. I can also see this snow angel. And the premise both of these bring up means necessarily the same thing to me. I remember being a kid, everyone remembers being a kid. There used to be a Santa Clause. There used to be a man I'd leave cookies out for. He was a man that was pure and great, just like Jesus was shown to me to be. He gave me presents for being good and giving to others. And he ate my cookies, and he had reindeer. [i]On Dasher, on Vixen, on Prancer, on Nazarene the red-nosed reindeer...[/i] But he's all dead in my heart. And so is Jesus, like he's always been. [i]just because you feel it doesn't mean it's there Nazarene just because you feel it doesn't mean it's there[/i] [/quote][color=deeppink] Absolutely phenomenal comparision. Jesus and Santa. The happy innocent story you're told as a child, that later on you realize is all one big fat lie. Something your parents made up. And they still make-believe that he's real, a sick sort of hypocricy considering they don't truly believe in him either. And in the end, the children are bitter and resentful of the lies they were told, and the stories are meaningless again. "I remember being a kid, everyone remembers being a kid." Lol. Great line. "[i]On Dasher, on Vixen, on Prancer, on Nazarene the red-nosed reindeer...[/i]" This one I had to read two times to understand what you meant. But once I realized it, this line was a very strong one in the piece, a sort of sum of the idea you are presenting in the previous paragraphs. [/color][quote] Snow is up to my face. Santa's still staring out his window at me. And in his eyes, I can see something. I get up from my snow angel, walking to the window, looking eye-to-eye at Santa, the thin glass the only thing between him and me. [i]Upside-down cross[/i] The cross dances on my face like a swastika, but doesn't have the same feel. It feels more beautiful than that. It feels something like a fairy tale. I could almost sigh, or laugh, or wonder. But Santa's pupil only stares me on, a dark hole like a key-hole, and in it standing the cross. Soon, as I stare, the cross begins to fade. Five letters begin bouncing around like balls, spelling out SANTA in one of Santa's eyes, and in the other, SATAN. I recognize the anagram?that if you switch the letters of SANTA around, you can get SATAN. The irony hits me like a blearing bell, and I begin backing away from Santa, more sure of anything than before. [/quote][color=deeppink] Yes, that is one of the weirder things I've encountered. And so utterly ironic. It works wonderfully in your story. Jesus and Santa are the same, and Santa is Satan. Jesus is Satan. Whee. Nothing is as it seems, there are always hidden meanings beneath the words, a greater sin behind the innocent facade. Religion is a contradiction of itself in so many ways, and humanity's imperfection makes it even more so. [/color][quote] I walk in the snow, coming back to the snow angel and stare at it in its twinkled slosh, just frozen there. My feet crunch as I approach, a rhythmical little sound that reminds me of so many other things. Of leaves cracking, of silence being unsilenced, of things that seem not to matter. And then I come to an abrupt stop. [i]The angel stares me in the eye and all over her body there is blood have you felt it in yourself and just froze?[/i] My eyes are given over to blood that has now appeared upon the angel's snow-impressed form. [i]And when it die, it bareth forth much fruit.[/i] The fruition of faith is staring me in the eyes; this bloody angel, once white, once standing for something with the eyes of other's on me, is now nothing. And nor was it ever anything. Faith does not exist; it merely believes. And for it to believe, it must have not fact, but must be cataract, which taken, serves like an eye that cannot see reality. [i]My brain says I'm receiving pain a lack of oxygen from my life support my iron lung[/i] Suddenly the sun shines above me; it begins to melt the snow, the already congealed blood is left where it was. [i]The angel was never even there[/i] [/quote][color=deeppink] This is really where the piece starts to come together, focuses in, and draws in the reader. Religion starts out as something innocent, something pure, like the snow angel. But slowly you realize the wrongness, all the dark secrets and the hypocritical ideas, beliefs, and the people who hold true to them, wasting away their life pretending to believe for fear of death. The blood on the snow angel, like these imperfections, becomes apparent, and eventually the snow melts away and only the blood is left. But the snow angel never really mattered. The false pretense of her presence is gone, just like the snow that melted. [/color][quote] As the angel leaves, it leaves a large machine, made of iron, and I can hear it hissing. It sounds like breathing, but is mechanized. It sounds like the breathing of a dying man. Faith never existed. It never was, never is, never has been. In my implications, one can only truly do, be, know, have, need, clutch, touch something if it is a reality. If it is factually real. As Santa fades like a fine-lined eyelash flickering away, and the blood of the angel is washed away in the rain, all that's left behind is what it is to be human and what it is to live. Those actualities and banalities that death is a truth, and that life is to be lived are never to have exemptions. They are the finite rules that the physicalities of our existence create. To expect more than what is here is to be selfish. And if there is a Heaven, and there is a Hell, then so be it. I will go to Hell even though that in my death I'd rather just cease to exist and I have been a good person. [/quote][color=deeppink] The metaphors and imagery are, for the most part, gone, and the rawness of the story is brought out. After the snow and the blood is gone, you see the machine that is religion. A crutch, an illusion. The people live thinking they have this faith, but the only reason the believe is because they need that crutch, they need to hold on to the idea that they can somehow escape death. But in the end there is only death. Accept that, accept the truths this life offers. Do not search for something that is not there. And if it is...why bow before it? Why live in fear of it? Accept death, and be free of that crutch, the iron lung you cling so desperatly to. [/color][quote] Sitting here on the ground a while, just watching the snow as it turns into water, I finally get up and walk on. The end is not near at all, but the beginning has begun long ago. And faith, the phony thing I'll never need, will hiss its breaths on, the helpless iron lung that it is. And some will kiss it and breathe through it. But something never proved and as artificial is not meant to last. Something that great is not meant to be. If it is, it will not matter. I shall still die and I shall still live the same. [i]And I find it kind of funny I find it kind of sad The dreams in which I'm dying Are the best I've ever had[/i][/QUOTE][color=deeppink] Excellent ending to an amazing piece. Great use of song lyrics. I'd have to say this one of my favorites out of the stories and poems you've done. Awesome job, Mitch. =) -Karma {PS: Now you can stop harassing me to review it! Lol. ^.~ But I enjoyed it, I really did. You should write more like this.} [/color]

[color=deeppink] Well. That was morbid and morose. =) A true Poe follower...^.~ It was pretty good, but I've seen better from you. Some of the lines were rather out of place, and not in a good way as some stories and poems do. They were just...weird. Like this one: 'bleed angel of death.' I just thought that it didn't fit where you put it. Perhaps if you had put a different word other than angel. Just my opinion. But, it was still pretty intense. There just seems a piece lacking, I'm not sure what. Yea, I know, I'm real helpful. Lol. -Karma [/color]

[color=deeppink] I would advise you against this, and strongly so. The human body is beautiful, in all its various forms. I could spend all day, simply drawing all the shapes and sizes I see. You are beautiful. To me, to alter that, to alter the natural beauty you are born with is a sin. Like some half-wit poor excuse for an artist trying to change a masterpiece because he thinks he could make it look better. But in the end, it looks terrible. The only excuse for plastic surgey, I believe, is because there are serious medical implications if you don't have the surgery, or you were in an accident and they are simply trying to piece you back together to how you used to look. Other than that...no. I cannot and will not agree with such a thing. -Karma [/color]

[color=deeppink] For me, writing has no specfic place or time. An idea for writing can come at any time or place, in any shape or form. Beehtoven says it well: "You ask me where I get my ideas. That I cannot tell you with certainty. They come unsummoned, directly, indirectly - I could seize them with my hands - out in open air, in the woods, while walking, in the silence of the nights, at dawn, excited by moods which are translated by the poet into words, by me into tunes that sound and roar and storm about me till I have set them down in notes." -Ludwig van Beethoven Consequently, my writing seems to come easier and more eloquently when I am listening to Beehtoven. The Moonlight Sonata and Fur Elise will never get old. ^-~ -Karma [/color]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by artemis [/i] [B]I just finished reading it last night. Laertes kills Hamlet. (he's Ophelia's brother.) Claudius (Hamlet's uncle, the king) sort guides Laer's thirst for revenge towards killing Hamlet. (Hamlet killed Laer's father, Polonious, thinking he was Claudius.) Laertes and Hamlet end up filling each other with Laer's poisoned sword. Afterwards they apologize and forgive each other. So, there's a better version of Othello out there than "O"? *sighs* Thank God! For those of you who've seen "O", I'm sure you'll agree that it was disturbing to put those kind of adult actions in a high school setting...over who got to their MVP in basketball...ridiculous... Oh, yeah, and as far as Hamlet's sanity goes, I believe he was sane nearly 100% of the time. He flat out tells his friends at the beginning that's he's going to pretend to be mad to throw everyone off. There's meaning in nearly everything he says when he's supposed to be mad. He knows what's going on. He's not stupid. He actually sort of reminded me of Sir Percival Blackney of The Scarlet Pimpernel. The person who did go completely mad was Ophelia. She actually ends up somewhat prophetic while insane. As to the suicide issue, Hamlet knew all along that it's wrong. He discusses it on at least 2 occassions ("to be or not be" an once before). The only thing in Hamlet that really bothered me, was Hamlet and Laertes fighting in Ophelia's grave after they've both been hugging her dead body... Can you say "necrophilia"? ~art~ [/B][/QUOTE] [color=deeppink] Oops. Sorry, my mind was a bit off track. I am shocked an appalled at my mistake. x.x" Forgive me. And yes, he does say he shall purposely act insane. Another part of my argument that got left out because my mind was wandering...c'est la vie. Thanks for the corrections Art. It is kind of the same situation in The Scarlet Pimpernel, isn't it? Weird, I guess I just never thought to make that association. Still...both Hamlet and The Scarlet Pimpernel rocked my socks. Yay. -Karma [/color]

[color=deeppink] That was...most intresting PT. And quite amusing. Your style of writing is very unique. The world is blessed by your ingenious plunger poetry. ^.~ I patiently await the next passage in this great epic of heroics and dastardly danger. -Karma [/color]

[color=deeppink] Heh...I'm not BabyGirl, lol. Just have her font. Gotta love the pink. Anyway...I hope you didn't pay a great sum for those pants. They [i]will[/i] be ruined sooner rather than later. Waste of money. -Karma [/color]

[color=deeppink] It's not easy. There is no 'right way.' Just grit your teeth and do it. Or don't. Write it in your journal or something. Tell it to the paper. Although telling it to someone is generally better, it's not the only solution. But get those feelings off your chest. Don't express them by doing something that in the end, only causes you more pain and is going to give you a lot of scars, both physically and emotionally. -Karma [/color]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Transtic Nerve [/i] [B]When I say prep, I don't mean the prepartory school kids... I'm referring to the slang term addressed to kids at high schools... Whether or not the origin of the word is such, the style and use of the word originated with peopel dressing that way. [/B][/QUOTE] [color=deeppink] Obviously not. I was just stating where the term 'prep' really came from, despite its current use. Yes, its usage now originates in clothing/personality, etc. Just giving everyone an interesting fact about the original meaning of the word. I think it's fun to know things like that. Maybe I'm just weird. -Karma [/color]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by wiccansamurai [/i] [B]Let's not continue the argument on wether or not it's illegal, as was mentioned, different countries have different laws. I know cutting is right, but who really does all the right things? I do this because I'm afraid to talk, and I want to take the coward's way of getting attention. Does that bother you? It's hard for them to notice me, my parents have seven kids other than me to worry about, and a granddaughter. Teachers aren't there to help with these kinds of things, really. Its hard to find someone with real time for you. [/B][/QUOTE] [color=deeppink] Of course no one does 'all the right things.' No one is perfect. But does that mean you stop trying? Just because you can't be perfect, you decide it's okay to do the exact opposite? People make mistakes, that's a given. But you should learn from those mistakes, not repeat them. And as it was mentioned several times, quite a few people here are willing to listen to you. There are help hot-lines for this sort of thing. Anyone who keeps on about how alone they are is just looking for attention in the wrong way. -Karma [/color]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by rttocs77 [/i] [B]What if they are Dolce and Gabanna distressed jeans? You are paying for the name and quality. My parents always taught my a European approach to buying clothes, which is to buy a few very very nice things in lieu of a bunch of crap. So, I feel name brand (and/or expensive) clothing should not classify you as anything. Also, anyone who still buys Abercrombie is a little behind in my opinion haha...I mean look at their stock, nobody is buying there anymore. Another things is that if you just consider preps people who have nice things, have parents that have a lot of money, and do well in school, you just described the entire population (well not entire, there are a few exceptions) Exeter, Andover, Choate, Milton, Hotchkiss, St. Pauls and a slew of other schools. There is TONS of diversity there though. As a matter of fact, I think people who use 'prep' as a derrogitory term are just jealous. [/B][/QUOTE] [color=deeppink] Okay, not sure what you mean by distressed jeans, (forgive me if this is common knowledge, I live under a rock.) but okay. What I am talking about in that quote is people who buy jeans and or other clothing that has holes in it, all the seams and edges purposely shredded, that basically is going to get torn apart in the wash, and paying 300$ or some ridiculous amount for it because it was 'in fashion.' I have no problem with buying expensive clothing as long as it's [i]good[/i] clothing. I like to look good as much as the next person. But I don't believe in buying silly clothing that is way too done over, and placed at awe-inspiring prices. If I'm paying 70$ for a pair of pants, you better believe I want those pants to last a long time. Spending a good amount of money on clothes is fine. Sometimes that's what it takes to get well-made clothes that you like. Just as long as you're not overdoing it for the sake of fashion. -Karma {PS: That was a bit off-topic...sorry. Had to defend what I said.} [/color]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Transtic Nerve [/i] [B]It's not a stereotype... it's a Fad.... just liek Metrosexual.... and boy bands, and pogs. It's a style, a fad.... Prep started with how peple were dressing... tucked in shirts, nice hair, etc etc etc.... Now apparently it's a mental thing or some crap... Whatever it is, it'll be gone in 5 years and you'll be "hating" something else. [/B][/QUOTE] [color=deeppink] Well, sort of. I believe the term prep came from 'preparatory school' which was what some of the schools were called way back when. Because of the many 'rich kids' who went to these schools, students at preparatory schools came to be called preps, and it usually meant that there was a great deal of money in the family. Over the years, it evolved into what it means today. The term wasn't derogatory before, when it first came into use. So I guess in that sense it really isn't a fad, because it didn't disappear, just changed and varied with the passage of time. And I agree completly with DeathKnight. Stereotypes become a problem when they effect your judgement, and how people are treated. Unfortunatly, this is the extent many stereotypes are taken to, rather than a simple joke. -Karma EDIT: I was right, here it is in the dictionary: n. Informal. A preparatory school. Chiefly British. The preparing of lessons; homework. Informal. A preppie. [b]To be enrolled in and attend a preparatory school.[/b] [/color]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Baron Samedi [/i] [B]I fail to understand the fascination people have with stereotypes. They are generally misleading and lead you to have a misplaced idea of people you have never even met. How bad is that? People always think that someone different from them is somehow bad, or something. It is rubbish. Geeks can be nice people, cool kids can be nice, Goths can be nice. I hate stereotypes, they are foolish and wrong. If people would learn to look past their noses, then they'd might discover something... [b]People[/b] matter, not what they look like. Personality is more important than appearances. Get over yourselves. I know that we sub-consciously organise people by some internal standards. Try to overcome the initial perceptions, and get to know the person. As you have probably realised, I feel strongly about this. [/B][/QUOTE] [color=deeppink] Yea, amen to that. Sometimes it's hard to get over that first impression, which is often times so wrong. But because it is the first impression, its usually the one that's the strongest, as bad as that is. The first impression is the worst, and yet the one most often held to be true. It's a person's job to look beyond the first impression. To see what's deeper, what's behind the designer t-shirt or the spiked dog collars. -Karma [/color]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Crimson Spider [/i] [B]I'm sorry, but all these stereotypes that you describe as preps... just plain aren't what I see. It seems like your describing EXTREAM generalizations. I don't know if I said this here, but I've said it before: Not all generalizations are wrong, but most are. [/B][/QUOTE] [color=deeppink] That's what a stereotype is. A generalization. That's usually why they're wrong. A prep is a stereotype. Pretty clear. o.O" -Karma [/color]

[color=deeppink] Prep has become a common stereotype, just as goth/punk has. Everyone of course has their own variations of these stereotypes, but they all basically have the same concept. The 'typical prep' is a rather shallow-minded, egocentric and fashion-crazed person, sometimes a cheerleader, and usually 'popular' and at least some-what well known around the school. Of course, anyone who buys pre-worn, put-the-holes-there-for-ya-already, shredded and used jeans for 300$ is automatically stupid in my opinion, prep or no. I try not to put people into prep or goth or nerd or any such catagory so much, but it inadverntly happens, just because of how society is. It's not right, and not exusable. And it often stops very intresting people from ever even meeting. But, c'est la vie. The preconcieved stereotype is something that has existed since humans dared think beyond food and shelter. It is part of our imperfection. I greatly doubt it will ever be completly erased from humanity, but we can certainly change ourselves to not allow it to affect us and our decisions so much. However rttocs7, I find it hypocritical of you to accuse us of stereotyping people, when you most likely do it yourself. And not everyone here says "I hate preps." Perhaps those you've encountered, but certainly not all. -Karma EDIT: So true, Semjaza. Oh, by the way, nice avatar. ^-~ [/color]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Cocomi Myojin [/i] [B]...and yes, diet MD is the worst excuse for making our lives healthier...case and point. thank you, all you concerned members of society.;) Coco [/B][/QUOTE] [color=deeppink] Yes, quite. As for the concerned members of society...I'm not too sure about that one. * coughs * -Karma [/color]

[quote][i]Originally posted by rokas[/i] Now of course the play is set in ages of supperstitions and the ghosts can be taken for granted to exist. Yet even then there's litle basis for believing what it said. However if we believe in ghosts we can believe in demos as well, or some evil spirits trying to drive Hamlet into madness and kill the king. I don't think it was fully proven in the play, that Hamlets uncle did actualy murder his own brother. Well, unless I missed his confession. So, now put yourself in Hamlets position. You are seeing ghosts, that your mother can not see and their asking you to kill your own uncle. Now tell me (without ranting on about the basics of the storyline (no offence)) isn't it mad to act on ghost's words and some suspicion, especialy to kill a relative? [/quote] [color=deeppink] As sad clown said, you did miss it. Hamlet puts on a play for the royal court, in which the king is killed by his brother and the king's wife is married his brother. The whole point is to see how nervous and neurotic the uncle gets because he actually is guilty, and Hamlet wants that as proof, and he also wants his uncle to know that he knows he killed his brother. Okay, I'm in Hamlet's postion. My father has just died by questionable means. I am severly depressed. Then, my uncle [i]marries[/i] my mother, not a month after my father is dead. I just saw the ghost/spirit of my father, telling me how he was killed. Would you not also wish for revenge? Someone you love dearly is killed by your own UNCLE. Your family. Then he marries your mother before you father is even cold in the grave! Your lover (Ophelia) goes insane because you killed her father on accident, and commits suicide. Don't tell me you wouldn't be really depressed, and want some kind of retribution for your father's death. In the end he ends up killing himself, because everyone he has every loved with the exception of Horatio is dead, three of them dying because of his actions. The entire play is about the fragility and imperfection of human emotion. About how we fall short, and about how the tales we weave end up suffocating us. Right and wrong becomes a mude point, it's all gray area. I really must question your teacher's intelligence, applying as he did the current laws and concepts of right and wrong to an old Shakesperian play. O.o" [/color] [quote][i]Originally posted by maladjusted[/i] Those of you saying that Hamlet was obviously insane and the person saying Hamlet shouldn't have killed the new king, well...those are your opinions. I don't think Hamlet is insane. If he is, it's not obvious. I recall that the two guards at the beginning of the story also saw the ghost of Hamlet's father. And yes, I also recall the time where Hamlet and his mother were in his mother's chambers, and the queen never saw the ghost. It is very possible that the ghost of Hamlet's father appears only at will to the eyes he chooses. I mean, the fact that a ghost is already in the main part of this story allows that, right? [/quote] [color=deeppink] How true. Depression and insanity are not the same thing! He's severly depressed, and for good reason, which in some ways will drive a person to do worse things than if they were insane. Also, yes, the two guards see the ghost as well, as does Horatio, I believe. Because of the time period, it's a given point that it is perfectly normal for ghosts to exist. Seeing spirits would not mean you were insane. That is how Shakespeare wrote the play. Using the 'oh he's seeing things, he must be insane' is a useless point here. You put it well mal. -Karma [/color]

[color=deeppink] This one was really good too. I can relate to the theme, as I have recently gone through something just like that. You give them everything...and they take it, break it, and never look back. Stanza 3 was the part that really kind of hits. Something inside you dies. All in all, very nice! Try fixing your spelling in the first two stanzas though, it makes a little hard to read and understand. -Karma [/color]

[color=deeppink] I have four balls of fluff also known as cats. An orange tabby rescued from our local ice cream place named Butterscotch (for obvious reasons), Sprekles, a calico whose name came from the battle between Freckles and Speckles, Snowbubbles (my brother named him. Don't ask.), and Pumpkin, another orange tabby who is the baby of the family. Needless to say, they own us, we don't own them. ^^;; Sassy cats. -Karma [/color]