Dark Legacy MUD Forum

What insatiable need do people require to be optimistic in their life? Am I, unlike anyone else, a individual stuck in a eternal search for the ultimate answer. Existence I find, to be pointless, a repeated cycle with no purpose or change, for we cannot change the future, as much as we cannot change the past. These stupid sayings that people create have already happened, and it has already been conceived of. What I am saying is merely a regurgitation of words, an animation of thinking flesh. If what I said were to be completely original, it would be unheard of. Everyone has questioned life before, the everlasting question of want. I look on the lifelessness, the children, cast out of the crowd because of their personal attributes, superficial all. Was I one of them? Yes, because I chose to be, I chose to experience this. It might seem a fiction of denial, if you were to read mine, but in truth, it is just that people change, I could change but me I would not want such, It would be against my morals to do so. Change for me would be death, death of my current personality on which I might look back and regret. Regret is the product of change, you regret once you once were, once a child, now adult, once adult, now senior, everything seems better on the other clearing. But where is that other clearing? Is death the eternal happiness and consummation of all our efforts in earnest? I do not know. I do not know these answers, I merely seek them. Optimism is love of one self’s life. It is simply unable for me to comprehend because I cannot see the good in life. I have a veil over my eyes to see the good in people, for all that truly remains after greed and lust is evil. Evil controls the nicest people, jealousy conforms intentions, and pain, pain is the only thing that remains. But alas, I must repent, what I say is not true for the truth lies in experience, and as of yet I have not experienced the optimism in one self’s normality. Even so I am a narcissist bastard who is so hypocritical I could make John Kerry cry. Relapsed, I am, growing up teenager who is mad at the world and the disputes in it, but while that happens I self question I question religion, and life but I cannot be supplied with simple answers, the mystery of life, and nobody seems to care about the past, not history teachers, not religious priests, nobody. The beginning is inconsistent and unreal in my eyes, whilst the present is supposedly based off the beginning of life. Yet it singularly denies its existence, Why do we shun the past as if it were nonexistent. Do humans have the psychology required to destroy themselves and hut everyone around them. Human’s alone are self destructive in the worst possible way. We know with a precognitive sense of what will happen, yet we still let it happen, we know the incoming doom upon us, but like the ancient greek prophet, we ignore this startling fact, this truth spoken of the future.

Miri it is while summer ilast
With fugheles son
Oc nu neheth windes blast
And weder strong
Ei, ei! What this night is long
And ich with wel michel wrong
Soregh and murn and fast

thats all i have to say about that

I find your poem interesting, but that shall come to pass, for life in one is life in pain, and that cannot last. I'm leaving now, running away, Forever to be gone, and when you ask Where has he been, They'll lie all along. I've been to Reality, to death to pain, traveling is a mere movement of idea, for all those who seek the bane. The bane of death the manacles of torture, the 9th gate of hell. But in this gate what lies to be seen, for no one here to tell. To tell the truth is to speak a lie, And within that, is to burn, for one of everlasting mercy, cannot punish.

Eat your ham sandwich isabelle. and no more poems! Mlaaarrrrh!

Busque no, Vague cauteloso Para la vida no es nada de una Realidad de sueño es duro, su lengua que una
corriente viciosoa Quemó para toda eternidad, Dentro de este Reino ley-tenido que Nosotros no podemos escapar,
ni podemos encontrarnos En esta Muerte triste del lugar es la liberación, la Muerte es la Muerte final no se
puede conquistar e incluso así, tenemos mas soñar de los que demoran todavía En nuestros sueños, en nuestros
actosla humildad y la maldad Nosotros creamos nuestro propio futuro Y lo envenena con tristeza

What life to live, what Life to die
What sorrow we contain
Our pain, our joy, all is one
Within this everlasting train
But the willow cries, the Rosewood dies
We make our own lives horrible
and in that lapse we find ourselves
Within a lasting Seance with Depression

Aber welche Lügen Innerhalb der Vergangenheit wir kommen, wissen nicht, Für wo unsere Herzen Unser
leichtsinniges Geschenk liegen, Verweigert unsere sehr Existenz die Wir glauben an Schmerz und
Selbstherrlichkeit feiert Noch im Kummer von der Welt Und die Zeit, zu kommen, und messen Zeit zu
Vergangenheit, Wir noch nicht leben Trost

What was the whole point of using Babel to translate your quasi-goth ramblings.

I don't know Jore, it just seems to emphasize my loneliness in different languages, a more foreign thing, Happy hunting

I might actually have something productive to say, but I'll wait because I'm optomistic you'll learn the useage of paragraphs and line-breaks.

hrm