_,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,_ -[ C H E E S E ' N ]- Ż```````````````Ż,,,,_ ___|text file # 010|___-[ C R A C K E R S ]-______________!___________________ * * Ż````````````````Ż _> * "foretold.txt REVISION" |`. *______________________________________[ brian : 31st of October, 2002 c.e. ] * ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ * * back when i was a part of iahb (before i was kicked off), i wrote a tfile that i thought was good at the time, but realized it actually sucked. so, here, i have the original , along with the revision. and since this is the sort of dvd-equivalent of the file, i added the even earlier texts that inspired me to write it. so, without further adieu . . . [[ THE ORIGINAL ]] : .---------------------------------. | 75# foretold.txt 03/19/01 | | by cracker | | childeater@hotmail.com | `---------------------------------' the sun was quietly burning my scalp as we walked down the street. the planet to his moon: "you are not yet alive. you live, yes, but you live without feeling; you live without knowing the truth." i humbly silenced myself and gazed past your face, trying to disclose my inability to comprehend your words. "you will one day find what has been seeking you for generations. it will hit you with full force and you will neither know what to do nor understand its presence, but you will know it is there for you." compliance blanketed your voice as we sat down on a bench. the nocent sun played with the nape of my neck. the moon to his planet: "i understand, man, but why are you telling me this now? i don't get it." i waited, expecting you to reply to my question. i had the notion that you, dare i say it, wanted to reply. one. two. three. four seconds. no answer. your eyes stared hopefully into mine. you were trying to say something through your gaze. pastures? meadows? what about open fields? i could not understand you. "i'm sorry, i don't get it." solar combustion: you stood up, aged with wisdom and hope. you reached into your pocket and presented to me an envelope. as i eagerly, but apprehensively, opened the envelope, i saw, through the corner of my eye, a dark piece of metal in your grasp. i looked up. you were holding a revolver to your right temple. one. my heart was fast; a car speeding through a tunnel on a rainy night. two. the situation finally hit me; signals sent throughout my body via my nerves. three. too late. you pulled the trigger. rebirth: i pulled out a piece of paper and read it: if it were this easy, it wouldn't be called life, now, would it? love ya, X as your body lay on the grass, i dropped to my knees, kissed your hand, and walked out of your life. forever. the sun is now mine. [[ THE REVISION ]] : The Solar System Foretold ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ The sun was quietyl burning my scalp as we walked down the street. We stopped, sat down on a rusty bench, and you began to speak: THE PLANET TO HIS MOON: "You are not yet alive. You live, yes, but you live without feeling; you live without knowing the truth." I humbly silenced myself and gazed past your face, trying to disclose my inability to comprehend your words. "You will one day find what has been seeking you for generations. It will hit you with full force and you will neither know what to do nor under- stand its presence, but you will know it is there for you, and you'll be forced to make a decision, which may end up costing you everything you once believed true." Complacence blanketed your voice as we sat down on a bench. The nocent sun began playing with the nape of my neck, hinting for me to reply, so, without hesitation, I did: THE MOON TO HIS PLANET: "I understand, man, but why are you telling me this now? I don't get it." I waited, expecting you to reply to my question. I had the notion that you, dare I say it, wanted to reply. One. Two. Three. Four seconds. No answer. Your slumped body assumed the position of an angel falling from the heavens. As you forced yourself up, your eyes stared hopefully into mine. You were trying to say something through gaze. Pastures? Meadows? What about open fields? "I'm sorry, I don't get it." I felt intimidated, but, oddly enough, at ease with my position, realizing we are different, despite what I tell myself all too often. Looking antsy, you closed your eyes, tears welling up, then something startling occured: SOLAR COMBUSTION: You stood up, aged with wisdom and hope and reached into your pocket, then presented to me an envelope. As I eagerly opened the seal, I saw, through the corner of my eye, a dark shady block in your grasp. I looked up. You were holding a revolver to your right temple, hands trembling and eyes glazed over. Trains of thoughts broke through my mind and were left without brakes. One. My heart was fast; a car speeding through a tunnel on a rainy, windy night. Two. The situation finally hit me; signals sent through my body via the Central Nervous System, first my brain, then my neck, my arms, down my spine and finally throughout my legs. Three. Too late. You pulled the trigger. Marvelously, the whole of existence didn't die with you; in fact, it rather matured: REBIRTH: I pulled out the letter you presented to me earlier and read it: if it were this easy, it wouldn't be called life, now, would it? Love ya, X As your body lay on the grass, I dropped to my knees, kissed your hang, and walked out of our life forever. The sun is now mine and I refuse to make your mistakes my own. [[ THE INSPIRATIONS ]] : a long while back, i wrote these two files, cousins, basically, to each other. i thought they were actually pretty dope at the time, but i was just a naive kid, thinking he was the tish. Changes ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ Your time is wasted and you complain to me about how you never did the things you always wanted to. You, not having that one night of glory. You were talking, but I guess I forgot what you were saying. So, I go and ask you why you never took the chance. You say something about chasing dreams too far. "But, no dreams are too far," I say, in bewilderment. As you laugh at me, I sit and ponder. Anyone can catch dreams. You tell me about reality. About the world. About life, and about me. Funny thing is, you're right. Reaching for yet another hit, you start to tell me about how you were never gonna do bad things. Never gonna have sex before you were married. Never gonna smoke pot or drink so much that you can't walk well enough to stay on the sidewalk. You tell me how people change. How I'll change. How the world will change. I look at you once more. You aren't God. That's just a story. So, who are you? My savior? No, you're my soul. But you know too much. Seen too much stuff. "Just been around a while," you tell me. Awakening me from my dreams, you stand up. I watch as you tower over me. After your last puff, you walk out of my life. Forever. Prosthetic Life ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ You sit there, telling me how you wanna live your life. How you wanna have a wife and kid. I simply sit and laugh. You were never the kind of guy to have someone you love. How can you love when you don't even know what it is? You only learned from movies. But that wasn't even love. Porno movies and love; those just don't mix. Smoking your last blunt, you start to tell me about dreams of being a somebody, being famous. Funny how you get so caught up in yourself. I ask you why you wanna be famous. You tell me something about getting money. Getting money for what? Your next girlfriend? Money doesn't buy love, kid. Money buys trouble and evil. Money buys you a prosthetic life. Obviously your new life. You tell me about flying. "Flying?" I ask. "Yeah, flying," you say, suave as hell. I always looked at you and thought that you were cool. Nonchalant about everything. I thought you had it all: money, women, happiness. Once I looked past all that, I saw your bleak, cynical soul. After the last sip of your drink--I can't remember what it was, I think some Scottish rum--you merely picked up a semi-automatic pistol and shot yourself in the right temple of your head. As your body fell like a lifeless doll to the floor, I watched as you flew away. the first one sort of represents the PLANET (mentor) and the second sort of represents the MOON (student). _______________________________________________________________________________ http://www.bubblemonkey.org/cheesencrackers cnc-011.txt written by brian copyright (c) 2002, your mom.