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Writing Monster


Mitch
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It's like telepathy. If these words are set somewhere else or read in some distant time, they?ll still be here. I'll still be able to speak. It'll be as if I'm alive even when I'm dead. It'll be like I'm past existence, where I'm on some level where nothing matters but what I'm saying. A place where nothing is on you but what I'm saying and what you're making of what I'm saying. It's telepathy. Telepathy?they thought it never existed but it does. It's right in front of our eyes. You can look into me through this while I'm doing the same.

With words I can create large trees. I can make a big monster. Do you want a big monster? I'll give you one.

He's in front of you. He's taller than you've ever seen?when you look at him you think of a big skyscraper that scrapes the sky and leaves it empty. He's got big teeth. On his teeth there's yellow plaque and his gums bleed all the time. There's also bits of food in his mouth. His eyes are heavy and dark and when you look in them you see yourself. His nose is wrinkled and you can feel the harsh blowing of them as he breathes in and out. You can imagine his lungs breathing, his heart beating in a thud thud. To look at him you have to look up. He has red scales all over his body, as if he's bleeding. His hands are large and bulky, they?re full of muscles and tissue. And his legs have even more muscles?like big roots of a tree?all whirling and spirals. They?re the size of large buildings, built of flesh and bone and endless times he's stomped on the ground. He?s eyeing you and his arm reaches out to you. His arm is the size of your entire body and then some. It?s like there?s a big semi truck in your face and you can?t see anything else. Only you and this big fist that's balled on you, this big red fist that?s full of power and muscle and design. And you can?t see anything?not even his face anymore. It?s only him and the fist.

And suddenly you realize he's not a monster at all. He?s just a big, towering, scary creature that?s words. He?s nothing more than the values placed upon words put together in a certain way, a certain fashion. All he is is just what words are: letters repeated over and over again in a purposeful manner which lets me give you something the words will tell you, gives them meaning. I'm a big talker and I can say big things, but I never move my lips. All I do is sit here and lick them when they?re dry and that?s all. Nothing more nothing less. But in my mind I'm spinning with life?s gears. I'm switching and changing and meshing and I'm like a hamster running in a cage but I never get tired. I could do this forever. But nothing allows it. And when I'm away from it it takes time to get it back. It was so rusty, so stale. It was all nothing. Remember? Remember the dead rotting carcass of nothing redolent with the scents that are his own? I remember him. This is a vendetta against him.

He?s long gone now. I'm on top of some pinnacle now. I'm climbing it higher and higher, and when I look up all I see is something more to be created; I see no end, and I never saw a beginning unless there was one some ways down. But down below me all I see is a monster: a big monster that?s only words, and that?s all. That?s all he is and that?s all he ever was. That monster's what?s holding this mountain up and he?s getting more muscle with each passing moment. Soon he'll be able to throw this mountain around like it's made of Styrofoam. Like it's a feather. The monster's everything that's built me as a writer, as a person, as me up to this point.

Who am I? I'm a cynic. I'm full of spite and I hate many things. But I also love many things. I love the way the wind blows on trees. I love the way you whisper to me in your mind while I'm typing this even though I don?t know who you are. I'm in a haze now and I don?t know what I'm saying at all. All I know is that I'm making some connection?I'm speaking to something. What it is, I don?t know.

All I know is I am heavily bitter. I am heavily sarcastic. And so, the monster you see below you? The one I described earlier? He?s also heavily bitter. He just sweats it. Every thing he does is a snarl and done with little time management other than when it?s all coming together like it is now. And he just doesn?t want me to stop. He?s looking at me lean and hungry, just like Cassius did to Julius Caesar in Shakespeare?s play. Lean and hungry and he wants me to feed him. And he doesn?t eat meat. Well, he eats a kind of meat: he eats words. Words are the other white meat. They?re also the best meat I can think of. Because they don?t cost anything. Go to a store, and beef?s sold by the pound. Maybe chicken?s there at the store too; roast beef, whatever you want it?s there. But words? Words don?t cost a thing. All they cost me is this monster that?s continually wanting more words. That?s groveling and who gets very bored when I'm not around. He gets so bored he doesn?t hold this mountain up for me any longer and it all starts going down, and lessening its grip.

When I was a kid, when I'd see that one Arnold movie?I think it?s [i]Total Recall[/i]?I?d get scared at that one part where they?re at that hill and they?re rolling down. I'd call the movie rolling down the hill. My parents caught the name and it stuck. Whenever we saw the movie again, they?d say the movie was rolling down the hill.

Well, that?s what it feels like. It feels like rolling down the hill when I'm not feeding my monster. This monster's never full; he always wants more to eat?and the more I feed him the bigger and stronger he gets, the less he seems like a monster. He?s actually quite beautiful I think. I think he is far better than anything I've met up to this point. Maybe we should get married. That would be the wedding.

I'd have to get him one big ring for him to wear, that?s for sure.

If I'm ever married to an actual woman I think I?ll get one of those rings from those toy dispensers. You know, the ones that cost about 25 cents a pop. That?s the wedding ring I?ll give her. That should show her how much marriage really matters. Marriage itself doesn?t matter?the ceremony of marriage itself is just tradition. It?s spending your life with someone else that?s really marriage.

I think my monster and I already married sometime. We?re intertwined. We coalesce. We?re indisputable. We can?t be broken down. We?re like atoms. We?re at the atomic level and we?re a hydrogen bomb together. We?re a Manhattan project. We?re an Enola Gay. We?re ready to make some people surrender?surrender to the genius we can make. We?re ready to drop the bomb. See the mushroom cloud bloom.

It's like this: we all have monsters in us. I just choose to make my monster one that eats words. Maybe someone else?s monster is a needle that injects itself in their arm and gives them release for the cost of life. Maybe someone else?s monster is a cigarette that clears them up while at the same time going into their lungs and killing them. Maybe someone else?s monster is a great sickness they?ve had their whole lives.

Whatever the monster is all you can do is feed it. It?s what you?re meant to do. It's all you can do. And the more you feed your monster the better you?ll feel and the less time you?ll have till it?s time to go and your suffering is all over. The less time you have to stare death in the face. And the easier it is to say no to him.
I think I have a good monster. He?s a kind creature when he wants to be. But there?s other monsters in me. Worse ones.

All I have is my body's shreds, its small clothes. And I hold those close in an embrace. I do hold these truths to be self-evident: and I hold them to me like flesh to bone when I'm lonely and cold and sad. It helps keep the monsters in their cages, writing these words.

That?s all I can turn to when there?s nothing else: the past, and how it used to be. And I let it make me stronger, I let the realization that I've lasted this long, and I can last longer, settle in. I let the words take me away with the past. I let it crawl in like a cockroach going into a roach motel to permanently set up shop till its death.

If there?s a nuclear winter, a cold burning hot death, at least this roach can crawl out. At least this memory will pull me back through, these words. At least I can ascend down heights I've already ascended and come to them for life everlasting, everbreathing, everloving. At least with that I can feel security. Can feel all I've ever wanted to feel: just to feel useful to someone, something, somehow. I seek the past for the future?s love. For its acceptance of me and leveling of me.

Merrily merrily merrily, life is but a dream. A sad old thing. A wicked gnarled old being.

Merrily merrily merrily, life is but a dream.

My feet hurt from my nervous twitch I have with them: I move them up and down, up and down, as if I'm jambling walking all the time. As if I must be moving all the time. It's given that since I have weight I can be set in motion by inertia. And the only thing that can slow me down is friction: the carpet burn, and the sudden slow.
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I thought of two things:

1) It is EXTREMELY descriptive.
2) Mitch has uncovered the foul creature that is 'The Writing Bug'

Really, as usual I am absolutely no help when it comes to the 'Critique' of C&C, because most work is usually so much better than mine *coughnotthatanyone'dnoticecough*. Good work.
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[font=Verdana][size=1][color=#800000]It's nice to see a new interpretation of the word "[i]monster[/i]" and "[i]telepathy[/i]". [/color][/size][/font]

[font=Verdana][size=1][color=#800000]I very much liked reading this, for it gave me a new outlook on parts of life. Whether it be my own, or someone elses.[/color][/size][/font]

[font=Verdana][size=1][color=#800000]There are so many passages in this that strike me, but I'll narrow it down to these:[quote][color=#000000]I love the way you whisper to me in your mind while I'm typing this even though I don?t know who you are.[/color][/quote][quote][color=#000000]It's like this: we all have monsters in us. I just choose to make my monster one that eats words.[/color][/quote][/color][/size][/font]
[font=Verdana][size=1][color=#800000]- Mimmi[/color][/size][/font]

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Holy crap, Mitch. That was great. You keep writting story after story, poem after poem, and they are all great. The description here was insanely awesome. I like how you put everything when speaking of the monster. I could feel his breath, see his arm, see him in all his gigantic glory. Regardless of how long it was and all the big words, it all fit like a puzzle. Yes, one grand puzzle that traps you in its center, then builds itself around you. I like how you did that. And the Julius Caesar reference was brilliant. I never would have compared the monster and words to Cassius and Caesar. Yet it fits exactly.

My favorite parts would be:

[QUOTE] Words are the other white meat.[/QUOTE]
[QUOTE]
I think my monster and I already married sometime. We?re intertwined. We coalesce. We?re indisputable. We can?t be broken down. We?re like atoms. We?re at the atomic level and we?re a hydrogen bomb together. We?re a Manhattan project. We?re an Enola Gay. We?re ready to make some people surrender?surrender to the genius we can make. We?re ready to drop the bomb. See the mushroom cloud bloom.

[/QUOTE]
By the way, shouldn't it be "I think my monster and I [i]are [/i]already married sometime[i]s[/i]." Just a thought. I won't quote any more of the stuff I liked. I would, however, like to add that I am amazed that you took a piece that described your "monster of words" and you love for it and made the point that we all have monsters of our own and are pretty much stuck with them until we die.

Needless to say....I love this piece, perhaps more than any other.
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