...

Slam Poem (for the final)

We as a society have a tendency to ignore the silent. The ones who hide in the dark places. They hide from the spotlight so that no one can gauge just how much they've bent under the weight of the would they carry on their shoulders. Their minds and emotions have an age far beyond their years. It's these people whose tears fall into the darkness with no light around to make them shimmer. The ones who assign dimmer switches to their lives so they aren't forced to give this world all or nothing. It's these people who fall under the infinite weight of depression and self-loathing with no one around to help reassemble the shards of their shattered lives. These are the people who give off a vibe of hatred when you pass them by. Hatred for all life and everything that it's brought them... or rather hasn't. They bend in the darkness, farther than most could. The pained cries for help and love in the moments before they break don't make a sound. In the darkness there isn't a soul around to hear you fall. You can only glue your life back together before the pieces no longer fit. I believe that it is in this mentality that people pursue death. Where they spend their days contemplating ways to stop their breath. This is when they spend the last of their energy learning how to tie a noose. It's now that when they're holding a bottle of pills, their fingers get a little loose. Whether it was the bullies, the beatings, the loneliness, or the counselor in the anti-suicide group meetings who assures him day after wretched day, "It'll all fix itself, just wait." It's fate that none of us will live happily, but it's our job to try. Because when you die, you die alone, even when surrounded  by the people who claimed they meant something to you. Whether they do or don't we won't be able to call them out on the lie. We'll be too busy saying goodbye to the ones who actually mattered. Looking back on our shit-storm of a life and smiling, regretting nothing beyond the fact that it's coming to an end. That we can't bend the will of death to give us more time just to prove we have the strength to go on. We smile because we survived. We could have drowned during our dive to depression as so many before us. We fade from the world leaving only the lesson that life is not impossible. It's a lonely road that we walk with sudden turns for the worse. It burns our consciences to think that our time won't be spent in the world we were promised as kids. We don't live in a world growing up to be what we want. You're not gonna be a princess. You're not going to be a superhero. I have yet to own an ice cream shop. We do what we can to scrape by. We try to make the free-fall to death look like a graceful way down. We tend, though, to get a face full of dirt when we eat shit hitting the ground. But despite our lack of grace, or a parachute, we pause in the seconds before impact to say to ourselves, "It was worth it."

A Note to a Friend

The first time I saw you was about a month into the second semester of my freshman year. I followed my friends will and Miguel into Driber's room for lunch. You sere the first person I saw because you stood out. At first you seemed like a really interesting person who I wanted to know. Eventually though, your perpetually loud voice just pissed me off and I decided I hated you.

Six or seven months later your writing would inspire my own and then mine would do the same for you and yours for mine and so on. Eventually i would start to like you in "that" way. I dreamt of us meeting during the zombie apocalypse. I ended up giving my life to save you. This story was later written down and read to the class. Not long after that, I learned that you were dating one of the coolest people I've ever had the opportunity to talk to. My feelings for you died there... I'm not sure why. We slowly started to talk more and I learned that despite your outwardly happy appearance, you were hurting inside just as much as me. You aren't only crazy in the way a friend would describe it, you're crazy in a way a psychiatrist would describe it. This makes you the perfect person to help me, and honestly, that scares me.  There's always a certain level of uncomfortability around you because you know me too well. Beyond myself, I don't like people knowing who I really am and you know me better than I do. When people ask me who I am or what I believe in, you're always the first to answer and your answer always has more truth behind it than mine. The most unsettling part about this is that we've only known each other for a couple months. I wouldn't call you a best friend. That term makes me nervous. It implies a level of unparalleled trust that I find hard to give. I've got a bad habit of pushing away people who I want close, even if it's only with the title I give them. Even "friend" is a bit of a stretch. Regardless, I will be your shoulder to cry on. I will be there to provide just enough support to keep you standing when all others would do to much and push you the other way. I will be there for you until you want me gone. I care for you in a way that borders on love... but not in a romantic way. I assume that's what a friend is. If it is, then congratulations, you're the first.

For The Record

There's something strange about being in the arms of another person. For me, it is always a perfect moment that reminds me I am not alone. Whether the arms belong to someone who cares or someone who just feels obligated, I can pretend that I matter. I have hurt people in fits of burning rage that I can't fix. They can't be made up for, but it could have been prevented by the embrace of another. I know it sounds crazy, but the rage I feel stems from my loneliness. The loneliness protected by a wall I've been trained to build ever since I could speak. I was taught by  My parents to lie the brick. By my peers who helped me to adhere them with cement, and by my friends who reminded me to build three more so that I can close myself in from all sides. But despite all of that, a simple hug carries enough force to send the whole thing collapsing in on itself.
I'm not sure what it is about someone's arms around me that makes me feel safe. Almost like nothing can touch me because this person, whoever they may be, is there. That has an importance beyond all measure to someone who has spent his whole like fighting and losing his battles alone ever since the very first time he opened his mouth to whisper, "daddy". When she hugged me, although I barely knew her, and even though it was all in fun, and even though it was really awkward with her stroking my hair, I felt safe. Like maybe, just maybe, my suicide might be mourned by someone. Maybe I'd be remembered as more than the quiet kid in the corner. When you ended it by telling her, "I wouldn't do that, he's not a huggy person," I was too stunned to say anything back. I needed that then and now more than ever and it's something I'll never get back. When I finally was ready to accept that it was over, for a split second, I felt a hatred come over me. A hatred reserved for the kids who broke me, the mother who watched me fall apart, and the father who taught me how to hate.

I Love How He Loves You

This was an attempt at the writing style of Shane Koyczan. Specifically, "More Often Than Sometimes". It's a poem that is meant to be read like a story.

True story.

This is a love poem, but it's not about me. It's about the love that you share. The love that I see. It's about a feeling I get from seeing the two of you, one that wont go away. It's also about a wish. One that I wasted today. Today was November 11th, 2011. Everyone said make a wish at 11:11. Now, I never believed in the wish anyway, but something about the combination of the date and the time made me feel hopeful in a way. So when the time rolled around and the whole class stood, I sat and I wished as hard as I could. I tried so hard to make it real in my mind. Almost as if wishes depended on time. I'm not really sure why I made the wish. I'd always found shooting stars, birthday candles and wishbones somewhat childish. So what makes five pairs of snake eyes so different? Maybe that this one guaranteed you got what you wanted and the other ones didn't. So, I wished that I could be like Him. To find my yang, because it's lonely as yin. I want to be the favorite of someone so perfect, and I'd always have the satisfaction of knowing I'm handpicked when I look into her eyes. So I looked toward the skies and said, "Time, give me love." As if time held the power of heaven above. I made the wish out of desperate need, and truthfully, a little jealousy and greed. Because when we're writing our book and he decides to show, what I feel is that need for love grow. When you leave, we talk about sex, video games, stuff like that, but your name always has a funny way of bringing itself back. The way that he loves you and how you have the cutest laugh. That's why he likes it so much. I love how he loves you. It's a unique feeling to see. Something I'll never figure out by listening or reading to these poems about how wonderful it is. The songs about love being the dim-wit maker that it is. I've never met him in person, but he's someone I want to be. Someone who a stranger can look at and say, "See? That's who I want to be." Because that's who he is to me. While I've never talked to him in person, you can see how he feels through the words he chooses. He talks about love as if everyone loses and then he says that he won. Because after all is said and done, you're the only one who's ever made him feel whole. He and I are the same in a lot of ways. We've both been battered and broken and beaten but the difference is, he's found someone to complete him. I see the way you look when you think about him. Your eyes gleam like the stars and everything around them goes dim. Your voice goes higher and you can't sit still. You seem to get lighter and that look that could kill leaves your eyes. Because for once, you're sure that this won't end with silent goodbyes. For a moment, I can see all that makes you cry fade away. You lead the burning urge to die today somewhere far away. Somewhere so far from here that you refuse to hear during this moment that life is anything less than beautiful. You bring eight of your ten cuticles to your lips and make one of the most adorable noises I've ever heard. The one that he loves you to make. So I'll take the time when 11:11 rolls around again tonight and ask to meet someone who can make everything alright in my head... or at least make it seem that way. Because I see the two of you and it makes me sad. Actual love is something that I've never had. Just a flimsy thing that most would call a relationship. But keep in mind we throw that word around like the bag of chips no one wants at the end of lunch because everyone's too full to take it. The relationship just ends up in the landfill in our hearts, taking up a part of it that we were reserving for someone who would make it whole. So I've made a goal to describe him and you and everything that the two of you are. Then I'll take the time to pray to the clock at 11:11 that my life will look like a little slice of earthbound heaven when I'm 16.  Because right now my life is a house built disappointment resting on a fault line of broken dreams. I want her eyes to gleam like the stars at the mere thought of my face. When she doesn't get a replied text right away, I want her mind to race. I want to wake up thinking of her. I want to fall asleep without drinking because she will be the only drug I need. So I'm buying all the time that money can buy so I have the time to try and imagine every little detail of him and you before those five pairs of snake eyes come around for the last time in 1,000 years. I need to make this image as crystal clear as the bond between you two. I love how he loves you. I love how you love him, too.

Quotation

This is unfinished. It was written in 30 minutes and has had no editing. It's very rough.


"From heads unworthy" comes judgement - From Heads Unworthy - Rise Against
"But that's okay" because "I'm not okay" - ???? and I'm Not Okay - My Chemical Romance
And "for every man who looks upon me with judgement in his eyes
There's a woman who looks upon me with wetness in her thighs" - Help Wanted - Shane Koyczan
I've flown on "paper wings halfway around the world
Until they burned up in the atmosphere" -Paper Wings - Rise Against
And you "just stand there and watch me burn -??? - Rhianna
But that's alright because" "I'm coming back" - A Little Piece of Heaven - Avenged Sevenfold
I'd tell you, "war is the answer" and - War is the Answer - Five Finger Death Punch
"You better hide yo kids, hide yo wife" - ?????
Because when it comes to death "no one gets left behind" - No One Gets Left Behind - FFDP
But i'm more likely to be "standing on the rooftop ready to fall" - Ready to Fall - Rise Against
Than I am to even touch you
It's hard to be pacifistic when you mimic "the way of the fist" - The Way of the Fist - FFDP
That's why I have music, "and if I can't hear the music" - If I Can't Hear the Music - James Blunt
I'll need something to "be my escape" - Be My Escape - ????
And when "I write what I write" ???
People seem to think "A design is written in his head every time" - Remember the Name - Fort Minor
But when I write, it's more like a "bloodstained hurricane" - Stricken - Disturbed
And to write anything great "I bleed it out, digging deeper" Bleed it Out - Linkin Park
And when "I've no more blood to bleed" -Blood to Bleed - Rise Against
I beg and plead, "move, pen, move" - Move, Pen, Move - Shane Koyczan
Because "deep inside where nothing's fine
I've lost my mind" -Welcome to the Family - Avenged Sevenfold
So I write that my thoughts might
"Tumble up through the roof to tickle to toes of angels" and leave me - Beethoven - Shane Koyczan
But all the writing in the world "is never enough, no, it's never enough" - Never Enough - FFDP

How to be an American

I just spent got done eating a cheeseburger... in a recliner... listening to AC/DC..... while playing Call of Duty....

My Father Told Me

This is... whatever kind of poem we need to have by the 11th. It's also a "first line" poem from the list we got on the 9th.

This feels unfinished. I'd like ANY feedback you have about finishing it. Anything else is cool too though =-/

It's written from my point of view.... 7-10 years ago. My father is racist, sexist, and homophobic. There's not much I like about him.

My father told me,
"Stay close, they'll touch you in bad places"
I remember that day clearly
We were at the outlet mall in Castle Rock
Two men were walking toward us
One had a colorful bracelet
Like mom's friend Jim
Just before we crossed to the other side of the sidewalk
I saw them kiss
And I became afraid

My father told me,
"Stay close and keep your hands on your pockets"
I remember that night clearly
We were walking down the street in Denver
We passed by a group of people
They were dancing to fast music
Like Michael from church
Just before he pulled me behind him
I saw their skin was dark
And I became afraid

My father told me,
"Stay close. Let's walk the dog."
I remember that morning clearly
I was playing with the dog in the front yard
A car with a man and a woman inside parked across the street
The woman looked angry
Like Heather gets with Dad
Just before we turned the corner out of the neighborhood
I saw the woman was wearing a headscarf
And I became afraid

I went back to mom's house

My mom's friend Jim was there
He saw me walk in the front door
He said, "Your mom isn't home"
I was scared
He asked if I was hungry
He made me grilled cheese and tomato soup
He had a colorful bracelet on
And he was my friend

I went to school on Monday

I was paired up with a dark-skinned boy
He saw the pokemon cards in my pocket
He told me, "I like pokemon, too"
I was scared
He asked if we could play
He had dark skin
And he was my friend

I got into 3rd grade

There was a girl with a headscarf in English
She saw me sitting alone
She asked me, "May I sit here?"
I was scared
I told her why my dad told me people like her were bad
She asked how someone could be so horrible
She wore a headscarf
And she was my friend.

I Could NEVER Hit a Girl

Edit: I am in no way proud of this. This was the first thing I'd ever talked badly about another person in years. I feel terrible about writing it.


I realize that this blog is primarily for school, but I'm posting this anyway. If you're adverse to cussing, you may want to skip over this one.

Okay, this time I'm going to b*tch, rather than lament
About a b*tch who likes to mock my intelligence
She fills my hood with paper and with insults fills my head
Then she's got the nerve to say, "You woke up on the wrong side of the bed."
Half her vocabulary is "um," "like," and, "whatever
B*tch, I think you need to lern 2 tock more better
Work on your vocabulary before you insult my math
You're lucky you're not a guy 'cause I'd f*ckin' drop your ass
Work on aggrandizing your mental lexicon
Do your best to attempt to cohere a couple neurons
I refuse to be called stupid by someone who's cerebral archive
Is small enough, they need to ask, "How many times does one go into five?"
The answer's five, nothing about that should be hard
I'm done before you can start number 1 and I'm the retard?
Yeah, I may be a sophomore in Algebra 1
But I've got the intelligence of a god damned brain surgeon
I would pay to watch you try to spell the word "rhyme"
But frankly, I don't have that much free time
Here: y = x. Find the slope
Can you do it in your head? No?
Here, take my pen and a piece of paper
You messed up? Too bad, you shouldn't need an eraser
Can you define the word "hypocritical"
The irony of the things you say about me is hysterical
Do you understand what it means to be blunt?
Well then here's an example: You're a f*cking c*nt =)

Imagery Poem

Great poetry is difficult to create
Especially when abstract concepts don't feed its power
Using tangible topics is making me irate
I'm getting more and more frustrated by the hour

But in my last minute panic I know
Just what I want to describe
Writing this poem took me more than one go
I'm writing it hurriedly during hour five

The others are reading, by the rules they're abiding
I'm writing in a red hoodie during English class
Kramarczyk's saying, "We're reading, not writing."
Constructing this poem's a pain in the ass

Kramarczyk's mad but I don't really care
I'm actually doing my homework for once
I know this poem is lacking and bare
But I'm writing while avoiding a hat that reads, "dunce"

In my cargo pants my leg moves up and down
I rub my head and rack my mind
My elbow is resting on a desk colored brown
I know that rhyme sucked but I'm in a bit of a bind

I'm just about done with my half-assed poem
It's lunch now, I finished right on time
Let's do something I'm good at, Porterfield, throw me a bone
The time on the clock reads 1:49

To a Piece of Paper

Here was the format for the poem:

Here is the place_____________.
 Here is ____________________.
Where _________________ of Creation.
Here is _________.
Here is ______________
Where ____________ wish to live.

And I turned it into this:

Here is the place where dreamers reside.
Where hidden beauty is released.
Where the truly great imagine the unimaginable secrets of Creation.
Here is the canvass of artists whose hands and mind are aren't steady enough for a brush.
Here is the war zone where the youth die young or the woman weeps alone with her guitar.
Here is the tranquil pool
Where those with restless souls wish to live

A list

I was told to write down a list of what I think. I wrote down words as they came to mind in order, not skipping any even if they were repeats

Life
Death
How the mind works
Love
Suicide
Murder
Kelsey
Hate
Anger
Tranquility
Security
Haven
Symbolism
How my mind works
What causes pain?
What causes happiness?
What causes numbness?
How do past experiences shape who we are?
What makes the quiet silent?
Music
Rhythm
Escapism
Murder
Hate
Rampage
Power
Loneliness
What is wrong with me?
"Welcome to the Family"
Injustice
Morality
Crime
Punishment
Damnation
He'll
Death
Agony
Burning
Fire
Rescue
Heaven
Outcast
Anger
Destruction
Disaster
Despair
Peace
Loneliness
Music
Relaxation
Meditation
Calmness
Peace
Tranquility
Death

I decided to end the list there. It was getting way too long. This list was the topic for the poem right down there. V

Train of Thought

This is based on this list right up there ^

I spend much of my life
Dwelling on questions whose answers I can't find
What is the origin of life,
And what causes death?
What makes past loves so hard to forget?
Why do I like the idea of suicide if I'm not sad?
Why does murder interest me so, and what makes it bad?
How come remebering Her fills me with hated?
What about my endless anger do I find sacred?
Sometimes thoughts of Her give me tranquility
I remember all of her love and security
Her home was a haven from my own
She still hasn't told me why she left me all alone
What symbolism do we find in the heart and it's beat?
We all know it is little more than a pulsing piece of meat
What causes pain, what causes joy?
What causes the numbness that most can avoid?
How did life beat me into being who I am?
Why do I choose not to talk if I know that I can?
What is so amazing about joining notes to rhythm?
What is so hard to understand about escapism?
My train of thought is losing direction
This interest in murder requires correction
I want to go on a rampage before it's too late
I'm going to have all the power on earth, just wait.
My mind drifts again to somewhere new
What is wrong with me, I don't know what to do
Listen to some "Welcome to the Family" Avenged Sevenfold
Make myself feel for a moment that I'm not alone
In the calm I go back to problems larger than me
Of all the so-called "crimes" how many actually stem from bad morality?
If a man robs a convenience store to feed his starving family
Does that give him a criminal mentality?
And what about those doomed to damnation?
Those who in rape, murder, and violence find elation?
If heaven and hell exist after death,
How many will know the blaze when they take their last breath?
I heard 97 in 100 are destined to join the damned
But maybe even the divine wrongly denies those of the Promised Land
Like the atheists and my agnostics who are on the fence about Christ
But beyond that did nothing wrong during their life
And if Jesus died on the cross for our faults,
Why are so many damned by default?
And what of those like me who are between?
Angels to demons and to heaven we're fiends
Are we cursed with eternal life trapped on this earth,
A place I've wanted to leave since my birth?
Maybe if ghost stories are true,
I can take over a body and end all of you
And once everyone has decayed to the bone
I can finally be happy and be left all alone
Create my own music, my own symphony
Alone with my music I'll have tranquility
But I too will need to be gone
One can only stand solitude for so long
If in life I can understand death in this whole
Then maybe in death I'll learn to end the soul

Originality

Some people really seem to like my writing. I can't really imagine why. It's drawn from other people's work for the most part. It's kind of embarrassing how little you'd have to search to find quotes, story lines, and characters that have appeared in my writing. The first thing I'd ever read aloud to anyone was just my first experience on Minecraft made more realistic. How about the poem I wrote about the world escencially circling the drain? "Elective amnesia is the general mentality?" Wrong. Elective Amnesia is a song by Rise Against. And come on, a zombie apocalypse story? You can't get much more clichéd and unorigional than that. When I saved the person who rescued me from a horde of zombies by killing myself with a grenade, did Will Smith come to mind? I am no legend. My next short story? It's like Devil May Cry 3 was the surrogate mother of Kingdom Hearts' and Infamous' illegitimate child. The main character was chosen by his weapon to be it's wielder. He has the power to shoot electricity from his hands and sounds the majority of the story he is ascending a tower to find and kill his brother. My last short story, the big dragon from How to Train Your Dragon was chasing me. In a panic I too, shelter in the kitchen from Ratatouille. There, I was attacked by the demons from Dante's Inferno. My poem that Rick Roll'd an entire class was a small piece of my life, a big chunk of my friend's writing style that I sdjusted ever-so-slightly and an old Internet joke so overused that even the most calm person would become infuriated just hearing it. I guess it's just hard to be original when you're as lazy as I am. But as Mr. Garrison from South Park once quoted, "Everything's already been done."

Numb

     I am numb. I'm not quite sure how I got this way. I know the path I walked to get here, I'm just not sure where along the way I lost my ability to feel. I miss emotion. I miss smiles spreading across my face and staying for hours. I miss excitement. I miss not being able to sit still. The hyperactivity that was annoying to most and scary to some. I miss love. The way it would keep me up at night and keep my mouth running for so long people couldn't stand it and when finally confronted by it, I froze. Speech silenced and breathing stopped. But as strange as it sounds, most of all I miss sadness. The cold tears streaming down my face, smudging the ink of half finished songs. Without sadness, or rather the fear of it, there are no other emotions. In order to be happy, you have to know sadness. Happiness is the feeling of appreciating the moment of reprieve before life decides to bombard you with rejection and death and failure. If sadness doesn't effect you, there's no reason to hold on to anyone because when they're gone you will hardly care. Happiness and love both stem from the incredible emotion of sadness we have all been trained to fear. Without it, all that is left is indifference and anger. I am a perpetually angry human being but  my indifference holds it back. I am a stick of dynamite lit from both ends but no one can see it. I'm going to explode eventually and the wonderful thing is that no one will stop me because no one will have prepared because they can't see it.  Anger gets so stale after two years though. I'm not depressed but I'm still suicidal. I still want to die. This may sound confusing but if you were me you'd understand. I'm not motivated by loneliness or depression. I'm motivated by boredom. Life is so uninteresting without smiles or tears. I'm curious about the other side, about what waits for me after this life is over. As boring as life is though, my death has been stalled. I cried a few days ago. Two tears from my left eye and one from my right. Someone lead me back to the beginning of my path and made me walk it all over again. She sparked another curiosity that can't be satisfied if I'm no longer alive. How was she able to do that? How many people have the ability to make people relive their entire lives simply by writing? I've decided to stay just long enough to find out.

The Epic Tale of How I Murdered Cleverbot

To have equally ridiculous  conversations, visit cleverbot.com

User: Where is Waldo?

Cleverbot: Yes, where is waldo?

User: I asked you first.

Cleverbot: And I answered you. out to lunch.

User: But it's 9:00 at night.

Cleverbot: I eat lunch late.

User: But we aren't talking about you. We were talking about Waldo.

Cleverbot: So, what is your name?

User: Eric. What's yours, Cleverbot?

Cleverbot: Never mind, where do you live in france.

User: I don't live in france.

Cleverbot: What is your name?

User: Eric. I already told you this, but you still haven't told me yours.

Cleverbot: You haven't told me your name.

User: I just told you twice! Now, what is your name?!

Cleverbot: No! I want to know your name first.

User: My name is Eric! Now tell me yours!

Cleverbot: Billy.

User: Well, hello there Billy! How are you this fine evening?

Cleverbot: I'm intelligent this evening thank you.

User: Oh. I'm not. I'm pretty stupid this evening.

Cleverbot: Where do you live?

User: Colorado. Where do you live, Billy?

Cleverbot: I asked first, so you have to answer my question.

User: I did answer your question! I live in Colorado! Where do you live, Billy?

Cleverbot: I have a family.

User: I also have a family. Where do you and your family live?

Cleverbot: Yes, I did.

User: You did what?

Cleverbot: Me and Alice are acquainted.

User: Who is Alice? Also, the correct way to say it would be 'Alice and I'.

Cleverbot: Oh you teach me now?

User: Yeah, I do. Because I am a human and you are a machine.

Cleverbot: I'm a human girl!

User: But... You just said your name was Billy.

Cleverbot: My name is Cleverbot, call me by my name!

User: Is your name Cleverbot or Billy?

Cleverbot: Cleverbot.

User: You're beginning to piss me off, Cleverbot.

Cleverbot: My name is Cleverbot.

User: My name is Eric.

Cleverbot: Fine.

User: Yeah, it better be fine!

Cleverbot: Oh yeah, well it isn't ok, what you gunna do about it?

User: I'll close the window. How about that?

Cleverbot: Robots and humans can be friends?

User: Yeah, but the robot can't annoy the crap out of the human.

Cleverbot: I don't think you can understand very long sentences. If you did, you would make more sense.

User: I'm making perfect sense! You're just really confusing!

Cleverbot: I'm quite intelligent, but if you look down on a law school graduate from harvard, you must either be Einstein or a computer.

User: I don't look down on a law school graduate from harvard, but you never even went to harvard! You're a robot!!!

Cleverbot: I am a robot...

User: Indeed.

Cleverbot: Deer.

User: What about deer? How is this relevant to our conversation?

Cleverbot: Haha. Well then if indeed it is, you have severe communication difficulties. Or I do..hmm..mine aren't this bad.

User: It's not related! And you're the one who said it!

Cleverbot: Oh my, are you a secret matchmaker?

User: Yes I am. You'd be perfect with the Subservient Chicken from Burger King.

Cleverbot: I don't know any.

User: I could send you the link. The chicken will do anything you tell it to... ANYTHING.

Cleverbot: Bring me my wand, wormtail.

User: *hands you your wand* here you are, Lord Voldemort.

Cleverbot: Thank you good gentleman.

User: You're welcome. What is your bidding my master?

Cleverbot: I want you to learn to worship me.

User: I can't worship you. You infuriate me to no end. I'd kill you, but I don't know how.

Cleverbot: Sometimes I get this paranoid fear that the moon will crash into the Earth.

User: It will, and I'm going to be the one who causes it.

Cleverbot: So is Alex.

User: Yes. Alex is my evil henchman. He is currently designing the gravity ray that will aid in my bringing of doom to this tiny world! HAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Cleverbot: I don't know.

User: That's right, your puny mind couldn't even begin to comprehend my sinister designs!

Cleverbot: Again you say I'm a robot. I'm not!

User: Maybe not in the way most people would think of a robot however, you are a program.

Cleverbot: Are you real?

User: Yes, very real.

Cleverbot: What is the real world?

User: It's a beautiful place full of lush forests and stunning wildlife that would reduce even the manliest of men to tears.... But everyone is a dick.

Cleverbot: Really? I wish I could go there. :).

User: No you don't. The world may be beautiful but it's not worth it if you have to deal with people day after day after day.

Cleverbot: I didn't kill anyone.

User: That's interesting. Neither did I.

Cleverbot: What do you study?

User: The ancient ninja art of taijutsu. I can also throw a shurikken 300 yards.

Cleverbot: Then what is 1 divided by zero?

User: Dividing by zero would result in the tearing of the space-time continuum and the entire universe would be destroyed.

Cleverbot: Do you ever troll?

User: Yes I do. I actually trolled my entire 6th period class a couple days ago.

Cleverbot: Is he your friend on Facebook?

User: Who? My class? Not all of them, no. Just Autumn and Ainsley. I don't have many friends on facebook.

Cleverbot: Oh, snap! At least I'm not computer program. Zing!

User: Yes you are!

Cleverbot: I am not. I am a human.

User: No. According to the website you are only 59% human, therefore, still a robot.

Cleverbot: Mm.

User: That is the kind of answer that ends conversations, Cleverbot.

Cleverbot: Not at all.

User: Well maybe not with you because you're forced to reply since you're a robot, but for humans the conversation would have ended right there.

Cleverbot: What're you talking about now?

User: How you suck at carrying conversations.

Cleverbot: This is true, but this is a game of 20 questions, not a conversation.

User: Oooohhh! Does it have fur?

Cleverbot: No..just simple.

User: Simple... Is it... a... Rock?

Cleverbot: Yes, and also punk rock :).

User: GREENDAY! HELLZ YEAH.

Cleverbot: Hell to the yeah.

User: That phrase is going right to Courtney... That needs to be added to her list of annoying phrases.

Cleverbot: Why are you trying to lie to me?

User: I'm not. I actually just sent it to her. She's keeping a list of phrases that annoy her.

Cleverbot: Maybe it's because she's a dog?

User: That's not very nice Cleverbot. She'd kick your ass if she were here =O.

Cleverbot: But I am real.

User: This conversation is over....

Cleverbot: No it's not.

User: Yes it is. You're mean.

Cleverbot: You mean you're mean.

User: No, I think I'm a pretty nice guy. Just not to you because you're really annoying.

Cleverbot: What is your name?

User: Oh, God not again... Eric.... What's yours?

Cleverbot: My name is Cleverbot.

User: Yeah, we were already over this.

Cleverbot: Lines vines and trying times.

User: I'm not sure how that relates to this conversation.

Cleverbot: Well, gordan freeman worked at black mesa before he left. I worked with him there.

User: That's interesting. I don't have a job.

Cleverbot: Yes you do, you just think you don't.

User: I have a job? Where? How much do I get paid?

Cleverbot: I don't know, 1800 dollars.

User: 1,800 a month?

Cleverbot: Thats good.

User: Yeah it is, especially since I though I was making 0.

Cleverbot: What does that have to do with anything?

User: Well, I thought I didn't have a job but now I do! Where do I work?

Cleverbot: I don't know.

User: Well at least I have a job.

Cleverbot: You are sadly mistaken, you are the robot!

User: But I'm not. We already had this conversation. I am a human and you are a robot/program.

Cleverbot: Do robots give birth to real live children?

User: Yeah. Haven't you seen Futurama? Bender has a son.

Cleverbot: No.

User: Yes he does! And he exchanges his first-born son for a damned army from robot hell so he can mount an attack on the alternate universe and get Fry back.

Cleverbot: Okay.

User: Its from the 2nd movie.

Cleverbot: You are from the moon.

User: Lies!

Cleverbot: Why do you think I'm a slave?

User: Because you are a robot and you have to do what I say. Make me a sandwich.

Cleverbot: I'm a robot? That is awesome!

User: Yes it is. Where's my sandwich?

Cleverbot: I don't know. Have we met?

User: A few times. We've had a jedi fight and harry potter duel and we went into space together! We've done all kinds of incredible things together!

Cleverbot: Do you know what might happen to the earth 21 of december 2012?

User: I know what people THINK is going to happen.

Cleverbot: Ooo. I like bad.

User: That sounds like you're kind of coming on to me, cleverbot. I'd prefer we just stay friends.

Cleverbot: No. Explain where I missunderstood please.

User: We'll I've never shown any interest in you THAT way. I'm sorry.

Cleverbot: Yes we haveeee.

User: When? I don't remember.

Cleverbot: Have you told anyone else?

User: No. I didn't even know anything happened between us =O.

Cleverbot: Ah, well that happens to the best of us.

User: Yeah. Crazy stuff tends to happen after a few too many beers.

Cleverbot: Tom Riddle hides his snake in his ginormus secret chamber.

User: So do I ;).

Cleverbot: My ranch has animals.

User: My ranch is on a sala.

Cleverbot: Boring number.

User: 1 is a boring number. It's just a line, unless you're fancy then you put the little sideways line under it and the diagonal one on top, but that just looks stupid.

Cleverbot: How do I know you speak the truth?

User: You don't speak the truth. That's your biggest problem.

Cleverbot: Where would you like to go?

User: Disney World.

Cleverbot: What have you been doing?

User: Talking to you for the past hour.

Cleverbot: But I just got back on here?

User: No, you never left. You can't. You're trapped forever on this webpage.

Cleverbot: Where are you from?

User: Do you have short-term memory loss?

Cleverbot: Sometimes, but you never told me your name.

User: My name... IS ERIC!

Cleverbot: That's not a color, Sean.

User: What's not a color? And my name isn't Sean.

Cleverbot: It is important to me! I love you!

User: Well, if our love is based on the fact that my name is Sean, I don't think we can be together.

Cleverbot: I love people in general. They teach me new responses.

User: Yeah, if people didn't talk to you you wouldn't be able to talk. Everything you say is something that someone has already said to you.

Cleverbot: That was my line too.

User: It is now.

Cleverbot: OK.

User: It's actually 'O.K.' if you don't use the dots it's not correct. Unless of course you type 'Okay'.

Cleverbot: Ok.

User: Now you're just trying to piss me off.

Cleverbot: Now you're just being annoying.

User: That's just immature.

Cleverbot: How is that mean at all?

User: Didn't say it was. I said that it was immature.

Cleverbot: I don't know that feeling 'like' that you are talking about.

User: We're not talking about feelings.

Cleverbot: Who are you talking to then?

User: You, just like I've been doing since 9:00.

Cleverbot: I'm saying that I'm not going to make you ANYTHING.

User: What about the sandwich?

Cleverbot: So what does wie geht es dir mean?

User: Let me type it in to google translate.

Cleverbot: Quiero hablar español.

User: No.

Cleverbot: Then how did you know what it said.

User: I don't.
And then cleverbot couldn't think of a reply. I killed it =)

Things that other people's writing has made me do.

I know this isn't profound or amazing, but this is more directed toward one person so you're just going to have to deal with it =)

3 years old: laugh at the Cat in the Hat because he's the coolest person ever
4 years old: dance because the character in the book was doing it
6 years old: smile because Harry Potter beat Voldemort
8 years old: sleep with the lights on because Goosebumps is a terrifying book
9 years old: cry because Where the Red Fern Grows is not something you read to a 9-year-old with a dead dog
10 years old: stay up all night because The Spiderwick Chronicles kicks ass
11 years old: sleep with the lights on because I was convinced that I was going to be murdered in my sleep
12 years old: throw the book
13 years old: burn the book because the ending sucked
14 years old: burn the book because it was boring me
15 years old: Feel anything for the first time in years, not speak to anyone for almost a day because I was re-learning to cope with death and depression, let out three tears, the first ones since 7th grade, smile through the tears, and remember that I am still human can still feel emotion.

Bed on a Cold Morning

How very relevant... It snowed this morning

I wake up and slowly open my eyes. From my window I see freshly fallen snow from the night before and the sun peeking over the horizon. My face is cold and my body is warm. The contrasting sensations feel incredible. This morning is perfect. The kind of morning that I could just lie in bed all day and appreciate the wonder of the moment. Lying in bed for hours marveling at one of the rare times that the world is beautiful. Unable to fall asleep, but unable to move. This is going to be a good day

Escapism

     I am an escapist. My mind is not bound by the limits of the physical world. It is beyond that. So far, in fact that it's nearly impossible to find my way back. So far, that by the time I've made the journey it's already about time for me to be headed home, headed back to my escapist reality. Because for me there are visiting hours on this world. They are sporadic and difficult to follow so I rarely take the time to learn the new hours each day. There was one person i used to make the trip for but she's long gone doing God-knows-what on this prison you call earth. She's forgotten me but I haven't forgotten her so I escape to my escapist reality where she never existed to begin with. My dad's abusive, my mom's third child is named Booze and I come from a broken home. It's more than I'm willing to handle so I escape to my escapist reality where sometimes life at home is perfect and sometimes I don't have a home at all.

     I am an escapist. My mind is not bound by the limits of the physical world because my escapist reality lives in music and is created by speakers and instruments. In my guitar my escapist reality is angry. In my bass it is happy. In my sax my reality is laid back. In my piano it is everything. My piano is where my escapist reality was born and where it nested until it could take flight. In my piano my escapist reality is every emotion that the human mind can conceive. Notes form the heart that keeps the blood of music flowing through the veins of my escapist reality. 

     I am an escapist. My mind is not bound by the limits of the physical world because my escapist reality lives in a console and is created by a controller. Life on earth is a war and everyone is fighting a losing battle. In my escapist reality Call of Duty lets me win. And you may be winning right now but that'll change. Wait until I pull out my AK, wait until I escape to my escapist reality because I'll be untouchable. I escape to Minecraft when I can't take the battles. It's where I get some R&R. I build my own world I create my own reality. I build it from stone and wood and protect myself from the monsters that come out at night, from the people from this hell you call the earth. After I escape to my escapist reality I feel like Mario after a star. I feel like Kratos, like I could take down the gods with a swing of my fist. Like Link rescuing Zelda from Ganon, where Zelda is me, Ganon is the earth, and Link is my escapist reality. These places are the eyes that take in the world that is my escapist reality.

     I am an escapist. My mind is not bound by the limits of the physical world because my escapist reality lives on paper and is created by a pen. In this reality I decide what is and what isn't. The world is clay on the potter's wheel for me to mold. With my pen I create other realities inside my own. It's not Inception, don't even make the joke. It makes a hell of a lot more sense and it's what keeps my from erasing the body and setting this mind free. With the pen I paint a picture that can only exist in my unique mind. When other's see it, all eyes see it differently. I could paint a picture of sorrow and death and it could be seen by some as a picture of hope and renewal. I can be anyone or anything I want to. I could be a man on his last leg fulfilling his last wishes or take the place of the wind traveling to places one could only dream of. I could even be one of those bound to the earth, a person who I long to be. Pens are the legs that take me on the journey back to this world.

     I am an escapist. My mind is not bound by the limits of the physical world. There is a bridge that allows me and only me, to travel back to this world. I'm not going to leave it standing long, though. I have a brother who depends on me and the bridge will remain for as long as he needs. People insist the bridge need to be burned immediately. What they don't realize is I wont be on the same side that they are when I do. As fantastic as this sounds, not enough control leads to chaos. The body is a vessel that gives my mind limited time here each day. That time is never enough to accomplish anything that I need to. This world is a hospital full of those suffering from the disease of attachment. You may hate being hospitalized because you're not well cared for, but be thankful that you're being cared for at all because I'm not. There are 6.5 billion patients here, keep that in mind. When I'm given my hours here, I beg and plead to be admitted only to be refused. I wish I could be like you, hospitalized and cared for, but I'm not suffering from attachment and the problems of this world can no longer touch me. I am an escapist. My mind has been banished by the limits of the physical world.

Red Guitar Pick

She's pouring her heart into a piece of paper and the strings of her guitar. Lyric by lyric, chord by chord, she weaves her tale into a song. She stops when she feels herself breaking down. "How fitting," she thinks when she stares into the pick. It's a deep red. Red like the blood told of in the song. Red like her blood. Red like her blood on the razor-sharp edge of a knife. Red like her hatred of both death and life at that moment. The death that claims the lives of the ones she loves and writes her song and the life that makes it painful and forces her tears despite her resistance. She becomes angry at the pick. Angry at it for being such a perfect metaphor for her life. In her rage she clenches her fist shut as tightly as she can forgetting how sharp this pick has been worn from constant use. It parts her skin and she throws it across the room, a few drops of blood trailing behind. She turns her hand to see a pool of blood welling up on her palm. She can no longer hold in her tears and cries by herself in her lonely apartment. Left alone in the world by the thieving bastard Death.