Gerik's Non-RO Art Dump (With some RO in it)

[Zerrif]

Here's an old piece of cathartic writing that I found rather poignant. I haven't deleted it since I feel it's one of the best things I ever wrote.

----

I always tend to write as my way of cathartic release. I'll cry, I'll laugh, I'll show emotion when I write. At any other point in time, I'm cold, lifeless. Apathetic. That's probably the best word. No one really cares about me because I don't really give a damn about them.

Except when I write. Every single character's movement burns into my mind, being the only real memories I have. Every single word they say is all I can remember; trying to brainstorm a possible response for the whole day, only using the perfect one. I guess I'm a perfectionist like that.

Maybe I'm selfish. Yeah. I'm probably selfish. Sitting with my pen and pad, scritching down words. Sitting at my computer, or with my laptop, tip-tapping the keys into oblivion; as I overuse them so much their springs break. Or even just there with my thoughts, playing possible sequences over, and over, and over again.

What makes it worse is that I usually base something off of a real life situation. Something to give myself an answer; but not a real answer to my problems. Yelling, screaming, anger all get contorted into monsters that could never exist, never be slain by such whimsical means. Life isn't that easy. Life is never that easy.

Life is simple. Not easy. Breathe. Look. Eat. Sleep. Function. Basics of life. Doing all these things isn't easy. The act of it is simple. Describing it is with words is simple. Written, oral, thought; description is always simple. Effective. But the actual action is so hard. Why? Why can't life ever be easy? Why can't it be like a story, in which we can control, alter, change the things we want to so it becomes more fitting for what we want?

That's because life is a story. But we're not the writers. We're the characters, the main protagonists of each of our own stories. Some are written quickly, hastily, and without detail. Some are painfully slow, every moment lived to its utmost fullest. Some are just written, neither horribly, nor exceptionally. Those simple, normal, plain stories. Nothing extravagant, nothing lacking. Just stories.

That's what I live. Just a story. I want something extravagant to happen. I want something to be lacking, so I can go on a grand adventure to find it. But people always tell me that I do lack something. Emotion. Control. Sympathy. I told them I've already replaced it with Apathy. No emotion. Just going with the flow. Not caring. Maybe that's my story. A story of apathy. But am I going to change it? No, not really. I'm fine with the way it is now. That's the way I am.

Then again, why am I so sad at my life? I want to change, but I don't. I'm lazy like that. I cry because I want things to change, but I don't use the strength I have to change anything. I simply sit there, almost content with just crying about it. Not taking action. That's the path I choose, and those are the consequences I deal with.

Not anymore, at least.

---

I shut the journal and stood up, smiling. I threw the pen in the garbage, and left the journal closed on my desk.

"Why don't you go do something proactive, for once?" Someone told me. I smiled.

"Eh, why not?" I replied, and they looked back at me in shock. Maybe it was time for a change. I'd always enjoyed writing, why not write my own story?

Maybe it wasn't that easy. Maybe I'd end up crying again. But that's the path I chose, and I will have to deal with the consequences, don't I?

[Kenshiro-san]

Lovely. I give this a million claps, it touched my heart, a true piece of art, this is what I've been longing to read for quite some time.
I simply adore it.

[Zerrif]

Oo thanks :D

[Zerrif]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NvJkeKfI2H4

Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls, Piano Cover. :3

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ohp92hdqOFk

U.N. Owen Was Her (1/2 of the song)

Read youtube description for my comments and thoughts on them.

[Zerrif]

Well this is very delayed (I had posted this on my youtube a long time ago)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GOrGELTIPH8

U.N. Owen was Her. Full runthrough.

It's very messy (and I'm still changing and editing the song a little as I keep playing it), but that was the first successful full runthrough of the song.

I skipped that crazy rock part in the middle by choice, if you know the song. It's been a huge pain trying to figure out that part and arrange it. Next copy of the video should have it incorporated.

[Zerrif]

He didn't know how it happened. It just... did. There had been no signs, no indication that it was ever going to happen. No one told him to watch out for things, no one warned him of the dangers that he was only bringing upon himself. They left him out there to fend for himself.

And he, blind to everything that he had created, had to suffer for it.

Suddenly, without any warning, the world that he had called comfortable came crashing down in on itself. One tumultuous debacle only spurred on another, and he became more and more aware of the dark abyss that he had begun to create.

A deep, black, void.

Only had he fallen in and realized that it was too late, did he come to the epiphany that it was all his fault.

The first big thing he noticed slipping away, was the thing that he once called family. They began to distance themselves from him, and from each other. The home that he lived in no longer became a home, but a house.

Everyone lived their own lives. They only came together to eat-- and even then, it was in silence, without any interaction. Like they were all being forced to eat at that table, and no one wanted to be around the other.

When the day was over, they would go back to their own separate beds. Even the beds that his parents had was separate. Everything was detached, and the togetherness of that family no longer existed. This one, he had known was coming for a while. Ever since he had told them his deepest, darkest secret, he realized that they were already so far down that path. While he had hoped they would be able to band together and help him with coping, instead all that happened was that every member dealt with it in their own way, and left him to deal with it in his.

It didn't help that he shut them out, but by that point any chance of togetherness was long gone.

The next was his failure at the one thing he told himself he existed for.

"I want to belong to one other."

A simple thought, a simple vow-- but no more now, than a simple dream. A reality that he would never attain, because his idea of belonging was too much for most to handle, comprehend, or work towards. Was it his fault, or theirs? Was he asking too much, or too little? Was he trying too hard, or not trying enough?

Needless to say, the late night phone calls, the feelings that he kept bottled inside, the inability to cope-- none of this amounted to any good. He lied through his teeth saying that he was okay to anyone that cared about him; even worse, he lied to himself in "putting on a happy face", and continuing on with his life.

It wasn't like life was bad. He was moving up slowly in the world, and things were getting back on track. Or so it seemed.

Before he knew it, chance after chance slipped through his fingers, and doors began to close. Instead of moving up, he was just moving forward-- taking things as they came, and no longer trying to look around at what else might be.

This world that he had grown so adjusted to was not the world that was around him, but simply the reality he had chosen.

And when that reality was destroyed, everything was gone.

The only thing left around, and inside of him was...

Well, nothing.

A deep, black, void.

[Zerrif]

So... been kinda slacking on piano arrangements.

Though, I do have two lined up. One is the Morrowind opening theme (I'm currently revising it to make it sound fuller and more complicated because in essence, it's a very simple piece) so that should be up soon.

Another is this. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xnsOhljil...re=related

This is NOT my video, and I am not going to take credit for the sheet music. I love his version of it though, and want to learn it so bad.

[Zerrif]

Just a little play with bolding and italics.

---

I don?t know where or how the feeling started. What scares me isn?t the fact that I wanted to get rid of it, but that it haunted me so much, and I couldn?t find a way to get rid of it. The only thing that I could think of to get rid of that feeling was death.

That wasn?t an answer. I knew that wasn?t an answer.

I remember when I saw him hug her it irked me. It really irked me. Though, I wasn?t the kind to wear my heart on my sleeve, so to speak. Sure, at times I would let people know what I really felt-- but I mostly bottled it in.

Looking back in hindsight, I have to wonder. Was it jealousy? That he was hugging her instead of me? No, that wasn?t it. I know it wasn?t that.

I think it was more pure envy about the action. How someone else got something that I wanted. That I desired. And the more I bottled that feeling in, the more I got scared of it. The more I got scared, the more it grew. I was just feeding the flames of a fire that I knew would rage beyond my control.

I still tried as damn hard as I could to not let it burn down what I had here. I smiled and just acted like nothing was wrong. The day went on.

The whole ride home was one of the hardest things of my life. I couldn?t stop thinking about that hug. How much I wanted one. How I never got one. I hated myself for it. What the hell was I expecting? Why the hell would he ever just spontaneously hug me?

God, I was such an idiot. I felt sick to my stomach. I couldn?t wait to just get home and deal with it like I usually did. Lock myself up and just write. Cathartic releases were always the best way of getting things off my chest.

That train ride home felt excruciatingly long. I remember getting into my room and stripping into a state of being comfortable and just? hating what I saw. I made my way to the bathroom, since the mirror in there gave a better reflection.

A better reflection of what I hated. And what I hated was this. What I hated was what I saw. I don?t even know how, but there was a crash of glass. Shards dug into my hand, but I was past the point of feeling pain. Just? seething hatred.

Is this what I?d been reduced to? So torn and mentally numb over something so trivial? It made me feel like I didn?t deserve what I wanted.

Compared to everyone else I didn?t have it bad. I wasn?t involved in violence, or hated. I lived off pretty well with a family that loved me, and friends to support me.

No, that wasn?t any way to think. I knew that everyone deserved happiness in life, and at that point that was all I wanted. I wanted it so bad that it hurt when other people got it and I had? well, nothing.

My mom rushed in after to wonder what was wrong. Luckily, my older brother had left water on the floor-- so I said I stepped in it on my way to shower and flailed, punching the glass.

3 stitches. They?re gone now. But the pain of that day is still present. It still hurts. It?s still scary.

Because I?m still alone. I don?t know how much longer I can put up with this sort of thing. It?s like I?m a balloon. I can contain only so much at one time, before I explode, or it sputters out. But each time you stretch it, it can hold just a little bit more. So what am I supposed to do? Even a balloon has it?s stretch limit.

I look down now and see the pen in my hand, and I just nod. The only thing I know how to do, is write. Release as much of it as I can before it makes me explode.

So here we go. Are you ready for this? The things you?re about to read aren?t going to be days full of sunshine and happiness. They?re not days that make anyone feel special, or lessons that you need to learn.

This is life.

[Ngjoko]

This is pretty nice, are you ok though?

[Zerrif]

Me? I'm grand.

I write depressing, evocative stuff, but I swear to god none of that has ever happened to me. It's just a topic I like writing about, pain and coping and stuff. :U