User:Serprex

The Stranger
''Found this on an elevator floor. Title on one side of the cue card, blue and cursive and underlined and vertically on the left, written upwards; text on the other side, black and cursive and written in an orientation one would expect20:34, July 11, 2011 (UTC)

The greater the threat to the feeling in which I had hoped to find calm, the more I demanded that feeling of my partner

"True love" stories only teach you how to talk of love, but do not teach you how to make love

Fuck
''20:19, June 17, 2011 (UTC)

Wanna fuck? / Not you / Get fucked

Even the sex couldn't make up for all the rest
''Looking to brighten the cynical trend of my writing, I settled on a pessimistic title owed to Grizzly Bear's La Duchess Anne14:01, May 16, 2011 (UTC)

I want to spend the rest of my twenty years of sleep sleeping with you

Dear me, you're wrong
''11:34, May 13, 2011 (UTC)

Everyone claims it's a one to one world while showing it to be a many to many. Close to all to all

To support all those claims, one requires a set with a maximum cardinality of two

Repeated elements. If everyone's someone, then anyone's for anyone because everyone is for everyone

Corollary: If someone's not for everyone, they're not for anyone

Nobody's coming home tonight to go so long for you
''09:03, April 10, 2011 (UTC)

Your boring door socket won't work for more, so poke bones for koronoas, you poor sod

You'll be climbing like a philistine when you get home from work, throwing fire on their ashes, crying for their mercy, taking on the dirty work of keeping this whole thing turning. Grind a little longer; you might make it past tomorrow

Since when were you real?
''Well la di da01:16, March 26, 2011 (UTC)

White seating. Window from a place I know. The place that this place is

Backtrack. Dark now. A swing set. They're behind me now. A fork in the path just as it goes towards the empty road. I've been here before, and I've been there before. The swingset is more to my left than I remember. The fork goes on farther. The trees are closer. The trees are behind me, rather than to my right. There isn't a river with a bench and a porta potty in the distance

Somewhere ahead. Light isn't making sense, water is looking like tiles when the pool water levels off with the pool tiles. She's ugly; I'm desperate and gone

No. That wasn't the last one. Where is that other point? I was wrong. I was scrambling something forward a year and more. The lighting was nicer in the first one. Less ugly, less desperate. More wanting. Judas style. Enough, and gone

I'm more restrained in my dreams. The vice of viewing such a virtue. Rational thought decouples from action. Rationalized gambits are for when I'm awake

The worst is found in dreaming with open eyes. Where the mind can set about how a single goal should best be executed without heed to other ambitions. If only I wasn't as ambitious in so many ventures as I am

Touched Something's Hollow
''of of Montreal's Touched Something's Hollow16:02, March 20, 2011 (UTC)

Ask the source, the victim, the singularity. The first two lines really aren't the piercing part. Only the answer: The end is when there's nothing new; when it's going to be like this forever

It's the final two lines. The application of the halting problem towards human patience. The pervasive uncomputable problem which haunts every attempt to make a program that can tell you about a program. The issue comes down to this: In order to figure out whether a program halts, you have to run the program. You have to run it iteration after iteration, not knowing whether this'll be the last iteration. You can't know what's going to happen until it's happening. It's why a deterministic universe doesn't imply the ability to know the future: In order to know the future, you'd have to construct a universe and have your constructed self live what you'll live. Which is impossible to construct. First, it'd have to be constructed to play out in fast forward. Second, it'd require an infinite source of material since it'd have to play off of the fact that there's just as many real numbers between zero and one as there are between zero and two. That universe would create an accelerated universe of itself ad infinitum. You'd be left knowing that the rest of your life is either spent looking into your crystal ball until the day you die or tossing it out the window having learnt nothing

So the halting problem applies this to life: You won't know whether it's going to be like this forever until the day you die. Again, the centipede game. In an inversed kind of way. Alternatively, for those who prefer optimistic connotations: You have to live life to know it. Conversely, since humans seem to be rather mortal, forever becomes a matter of one's lifespan. But now you only have N iterations to figure out if the program's going to halt in N iterations, and it'll take N iterations to figure that out

Time's up

Get a life
''Wrong question08:04, March 15, 2011 (UTC) ''Please, for the love of god, get a life Recognize the blur for its austere

Hashmaps appear to be a random collection of references Too much hash, not enough direction

Lost at sea Losing air Not enough water in the world Are you the destroyer?

What is soul power? ''Not entierly sure. I heard it in a song. I'd describe it as charisma and sence of well being,..or somthing like that anyway & entirely...sense

''I've only ever met one and I only like about one song by them. You my anon friend, have soul power & but,

Bad hash function. It only takes knowing one to know there can't be more. Obfuscation abolished in all the wrong ways

Break the austere ''I feel silly for not considering that earlier

Rock paper scissors
''Written while listening to Themselves's Program To Hunt 200704:38, January 21, 2011 (UTC)

They say it's random & then they lose

First is the stare down. Figure out how many moves ahead they'll cycle through, how many they'll pull back. Sometimes the look will give away that they're a one time pad: They've had a random number generator give them their every move. It doesn't matter then, any sequence will do, but that's where one might decide to try and bait them with rock rock paper. Either they'll stick to their random moves, or they'll chance your pulling off an avalanche and avoid throwing a scissor

Other games become slow motion rock paper scissors. Slow motion enough to let you watch their fingers moving out, slow enough to make sure they see you bluff. Mental fatigue misdistributes their choices to settle on rock too much. Perfect prey for a scissor offering to secure a double paper, or a paper to draw them out to stumble between paper and scissors in an attempt to wake up, quite possibly fumbling into a forfeit

Always stay a step ahead of them. Don't rush them. Don't step two paces

The kill. Winning becomes easy, so short a focus, they fumble an opening into your favor and give enough leverage to make an attempt at surprise tell all the required secrets without taking the win. So the desire moves to the kill. Don't win, don't lose. Hours, focus held, no room can be left to let the opponent drift into randomness, escape becomes impossible as every move is mirrored

They say it's just a game & then they die

Buried Alive
''CBC had a flash fiction competition which specified the first four words and the last three words01:21, January 2, 2011 (UTC)

The snowman grinned malevolently as the candle went out. He swore, thrusting a hand into his pocket for another match. None. The other pocket. One. He glared in the direction of the hidden snowman, his hands feeling for the hat. He raced his heart to find it first, his teeth slashing apart his lip. The match struck against the hat, soon reigniting the candle. He looked up at the malevolent snowman's grin with a shudder, resisting the urge to destroy the totem his Psychology 101 class had taught to erect for the sake of one's sanity. They said it'd keep one from loneliness. They hadn't said it'd mock one's loneliness. They lied, just like this snowman was lying. Enraged, he threw the candle at the snowman. Darkness again. It was hopeless. His last sight was that awful grin he'd given the snowman. The snowman was foe, not friend. It was going to attack him. He'd fight back first. Throwing himself against the snowman, he remembered that it was the post for his snow shelter as he was buried alive

aPod
''I was lying on the English class floor, waiting to hand in High Frequency Trading. That's the only explanation I have16:41, December 17, 2010 (UTC)

ePod? Ridiculous. There was a time when e- showed an all new electronic flare, but a flare is only flare for so long. Let's go with the next vowel: iPod. It has this odd contradiction of being about the individual, yet it isn't so pretentious as to capitalize I. But people aren't philosophers, since we killed all the philosophers ages ago, so we'll have to grab them with something more direct: oPod. It's got the inheritance of all the o for orgasm puns, and they're understood well enough that we just have to show some person gasping away with ear buds being crammed down their cranium to get numb skull sales in a pinch. But people really are just getting bored with themselves, look at the proliferation of social networking. Nobody cares about themselves, they care about everybody else. There's so many more people than yourself. So we'll give them the uPod. It'll give a nostalgic memory of the iPod, but instead of playing the music on the uPod, people will hear the music contained on some nearest device. Think of the gag parties that'll match up people based on which uPods play each other, or the confessions people will place so that passing strangers will hear their plight anonymously. But really, we just need to drop into the unknown. Nobody knows the future. So we'll advertise the yPod, which doesn't even know if it exists. Is it even a vowel? Why ask?

Honest Samaritan
''This conversation was inspired by a conversation I had with someone who happens to use RAID. He likes doing benchmarks19:54, September 24, 2010 (UTC)

I do say fine sir, what do you need an engine for in your shoes? / Why, my fellow honest samaritan, for one such reason that any honest samaritan might: The truth / Of how fast one's shoes might possibly take flight? / Indeed, may I ask what you require an engine in your shoes for? / Why, I deliver mail across the globe, I've an industrial requirement which calls for me to suit myself properly so to endure maximal profit / That's not very honest, the only reason an honest samaritan would have for having an engine in their shoes is the truth / But you said your reason was only one such reason that an honest samaritan might acquire an engine for their shoes / I erred slightly in the wording / That's not very honest

Harris
''220410. There have been times where I've been asked to tell a story on spot, and I seem to fail rather quickly. I made this story while alone on a bike thinking of how to go about telling a story without proper pause to think07:58, September 19, 2010 (UTC)

Harris. Likes an open fire, though sometimes goes for closed. Ends up at the department store, ends up in an office with some long short hair getting offered a department of departments. Promptly leaves, ends up taking up an offer for a department of apartments. Department of apartments turns to be a stack of boxes taped together shoddy. Decides to sue. Mail to have the department of apartments appraised; mail loses. Full out down, thus reconsideration comes to the department of departments. Upon entering, having sued the place, Harris is thrown in stand into a lower cellar like deparment. There are people, mostly dead. He's mostly dead too

Lights Out
''I wrote this 310310. I was in a half conscious state while writing. The receiver of the message mistook it as a suicide attempt confession or something (It is when the idea of suicide becomes a laughable possibility that the world arrives at a halt to give weight to the petty. For what I feel now, I blame the stronger hormone // There was much I could write, nothing which was wanted / & such still appears to be the case)08:02, September 19, 2010 (UTC)

Specimen: Lucid. Shuffles ruffles on the sweater until the hands can't bleed. Wipes forehead while widening eyes

Page seven. Voice clips clatter across the floor cast. Accuse bitch in grabbing words

Lucid spite. Can't breathe. Ground below hovers. Clenching grinds. Red raise. Hands raising pulled down. Drop

Jagged peek through holes left covered. Cringe air gasped

Intestines filled with fire ants all burning in their teeth gritting in the teeth they're digging

Cold slip of the wire fastening against buckled cramp all crumpled

Slight of hand, careful how easy that trick goes

Call dibs out of the table, night's over

Peek & Peep
''I didn't know how else to end the email? Sourced from half lacking invitation to places I needn't, nor really want, be12:42, December 19, 2009 (UTC)

I can sit quietly by the door and not be a hassle. Not a hassle at all. Just sit and be quiet. I won't even stare. Neither peek nor peep. I can keep out of way, just sit quietly by the door and not be a hassle. Not a hassle at all. Just sit and be quiet. I won't even stare. Neither peek nor peep. I promise

I'm just sitting quietly by the door and not being a hassle. Not a hassle at all. Just sitting and being quiet. I'm not even staring. Neither peeking nor peeping. I'm keeping out of way, just sitting quietly by the door and not being a hassle. Not a hassle at all. Just sitting and being quiet. I'm not even staring. Neither peeking nor peeping. I promised

I didn't sit quietly by the door and not be a hassle. Was a hassle for all. Didn't just sit and be quiet. I even stared. Peeked and peeped. I didn't keep out of way, didn't just sit quietly by the door and not be a hassle. Was a hassle for all. Didn't just sit and be quiet. I even stared. Peeked and peeped. Sorry

Compulsion
''I began with a sentence entailing that nothing stops me from riding a bike into a brample of bushes with laughter. Then I wrote another, which happened to be five characters less. The following sentence was four less. Having noticed this pattern, I found that in the very piece that I was noting the lack of restriction the world lays upon us that it was my own restrictions that I was incapable of denying01:36, November 5, 2009 (UTC)

I never realized it was that possible That no one was going to stop me Trivial joy was mine forever But then were my problems I never realized it was I caged myself in here

Write of dandelions anytime my presents may be wanted
''20091018 Titled by another on 20090815, I wrote such only after what I deemed the worst day of my grand life20:26, February 18, 2011 (UTC)

Dandelions are always there. Weeds that tunnel their roots below the others, just in case roots arise which could stand their stubborn unwillingness to submit

The lawn mower has selected those dandelions which grow closest to the ground. But today, the dandelions make rise. Today, it isn't only the dandelion that grows beside the compost which grows to have leaves the length of my childhood's torso's height

The roots aren't going to go underground any more. They will rise above the gentle earth and make to stroke the porcelain. Wrap around it and feel that all is right in the world they are now crashing apart

On most days these dandelions remain tame and wait for their one day to see the weekly light. That one day for which comfort is found when all they have to wrap around is themselves. Always existing, but subdued. Now that existence pronounces itself

Today they stand with grace, like giants

''Today little alien children are tearring my stomach apart. Attempted remedies have only rendered worst. It now hurts to drink water

''These alien children also love to torment the mind. They listen to my silly thoughts and whisper their lies

''If such torment becomes bearable I'll find myself a dandelion

Situation New
''First bit is free association of Beck's muffled Mutherfucker. I wasn't done though, so I trailed19:24, 24 August 2009 (UTC)

Shrugs your arm; whole in a spasm. Strung out through. Numb from bottom; feet too low. Sharp slit sheathed. Cramps your spine; cranked clockwork neck. I'm afraid your face won't fit my head. Open your sharp eyes; the lights are off. Never ever leave here again. The door is open, but you're still locked in. The floor is gone. Limbs all flying; cracking twigs before cracking

Sitting in a park
''I came across some drink and some paper and some pencil and some write12:39, 3 July 2009 (UTC)

This paper was found sitting in a park sitting in a park sitting in a park sitting in a park

Slightly long winded way of saying iced cappuccinos are cool
''20090630 Written after my first exposure to coffee01:42, February 20, 2011 (UTC)

Dreams of iced cappuccino vaguely quiver in the cold on a small rotten log of blankets left outside for dying swans who sing of unheard songs which were abandoned for the intangible lies which spiders weave within sleeping heads during the hush of dusks left unobserved in partial due of unobservance and in remainder due of deobservance which results from the observance of that which need not be observed when there are greater things to be experienced in the thick fog of open system existence which ensnares the fearful to a most wicked turmoil of unfruitful labors left undone when being done in the fashion unprescribed by alley fearing psychotics who sell insanity for faltering sunlight and ensure a full moon for all the little people being squished under the feet of growing afflictions fed with broken wheels which are manufactured in the shadier parts of the neon factory built atop sawed off hands full of bloating muscles that rot without releasing wield upon the unsafe civility that caused the unfortunate inevitability of revenge rebelled against lost rebel who demands already implemented solutions to problems still being implemented by the slaves of renegade lords found guilty of having no place to stay and too many places to go

This story sucks
''Why does it suck? You tell me. Except I already know. Because it is spam. Spam in the land of spam sucks by default. And then it isn't really a story, but a self referencing thing that died before it was even created. So why am I creating it? Because I'm not13:01, 6 November 2008 (UTC)

Spawn
''I wanted to write something00:59, 26 April 2008 (UTC)

There in the sky, flying above, is the highest mountain. It isn't really a high mountain, more the highest a mountain has ever flown. For it is the flight which causes the great mountain to soar across, shouting out the orders of above:

"We case our demands and demand that you do as we say. We say all we want, or we won't say what we say. Get out, now"

Of course, the folk are chilled. Here, the mountain they had come to love, had simply rose to the land of God. They bow down, praying grace

"We state our statements and demand that you call out not for he who has left thee, for it is our will that you simply get out, now"

And the folk cry. Even beside the little mountain they are little. And it being so high, the folk look even more little then they had just a few hours ago

And there the folk turn back; urgent to run. But it is too late, and the mountain is letting the might of the rock fall upon them

"Disobediance has no virtue in the hands of the dead. Get out, now"

And the creepies drifted, landing in their wisp like form, reaching out with their small tendrils to sow the land. The earth glows a pale blue. The folk, half crushed, stares in disbelief. They are who the mountain has chosen to wed? Oh, what awful people they must have been. To have angered it so that it would not wrap around them and lul them with the great breadth of warmth it had once had. No, they had mistreated it. And now, it bore new children

"These are my children, reckless children. Get out, now"

But the folk refused. Not after seeing them. And it was there that the mountain descended, crushing the folk who could not bear their brothers

"Goodbye, oh reckless children"

Darwin's Coward
''Random thoughts deserve random stories01:46, 8 November 2007 (UTC)

The flat road, watched the children stand. For there they saw across the land and from which they waited, glaring at each other in the eye. A quarrel had brought them here this oh so very day, in which one would prove a chicken, and the other a brave

And there it happened, each standing there, that a passing car did just that. One took flight, away they cried at their own demise of cowardice while the other stood now only making leap to move at the thrashing of death's crash

Photon
''I decided to write a random scifi under 1KB. Of course, everybody decided to chant on about how it made no sense. Be great to see the response they'd get if they went on about how unscientific a fantasy story was16:07, 24 June 2008 (UTC)

The lights were dim, hope had been lost and the world was slient. For in this light of day, the moon was larger in view than ever had been seen

DrParks had been working on a gravitational thesis when he discovered the potential of innate gravitational force. Taking a sphere of glass which had been rounded to the whole of pi, a single photon was set into motion within it. Curving about the edge, the glass had shattered and the photon had vanished through time

Now, a year later, the photon was captured in the moon. For the orbit of the earth had made it so that when the photon traversed the universe's perfectly spherical time, the earth had displaced so that the moon was where the glass had shattered. The moon had taken the photon's gravitational force and now the earth was being pulled into it

All they could do was cry

Melodrama
''Someone spammed the first line, Nonimportant expanded it and I completed it (I also added comments if you care to understand the onomatopoeia)16:07, 24 June 2008 (UTC)

''Dunt dunt, dunt dunt da daaa! Tap, tap, tap, tap... Knocknocknock... knock knock ??? Smack!...SLAP! OOUCH! N1K4N1K49D0025! ChiChy... WTF???NOEZ!!! BFAMZ! Lawl!PWND!!! ChiChy... ??? BFAMZ! AIEEEEEEEYYYYYYYY ZOMG!!!a...aa....AHHHHHHHHHHHH! LMFAO!!!PWND! Bibqua? mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm... ...Bibqua? ChiChy '''!BIBQUA!!! BFAMZ! BIKUAEY!!!''' ShiShyShiShy...SheriShyShiShy MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!

CtrlZ
''A poem I wrote for my mother's birthday. She always says "I didn't want to do that" while playing tetris16:16, 24 June 2008 (UTC) The lizard liked pie The lizard liked lots of pie The lizard liked lots and lots of pie The lizard ate the pie The lizard died The lizard didn't wanna do that How they did so not wish for CtrlZ to work not So that which is is not which it is, but that which it was But so that which is is which it is, and not that which it was UNDO IT! UNDO IT NOW! NO! I WON'T UNDO IT! YES! YOU WILL UNDO IT! NO! I'LL UNDO YOU! NO! I'LL UNDO YOU! STFU! I'LL UNDO ALL OF YOU!