CaptainWacky
I want to smell dark matter
why does my lower back hurt is it my kidneys am i going to die
yes i am going to die
_____________________________________________________________________________
"He was finished. The culimination of years of storytelling, finally paid off. He'd been booking his fantasy wrestling league since he was a teenager. It had been for friends at first, an efed they called it. A group of young men (and one girl, for a couple of months) who would each roleplay as a wrestling character they'd invented. He hadn't even ran this fantasy federation himself, a guy he'd vaugely known was in charge. But he was good at writing. Writing fantasy wrestling scenarios anyway. So he'd ended up doing a lot of writing for the thing. Writing the matches, the storylines, everything. He'd almost taken over by the end. The guy in charge had lost interest. Others had drafted away. He tried to keep it going, but there wasn't enough interest. So it had ended. All those friendships had gradually ended too, he didn't speak to anyone from the fantasy wrestling days anymore.
But he hadn't stopped writing.
He'd kept on writing the fantasy wrestling federation all by himself. It hadn't even been that strange, not having the roleplays to work from. Frankly he'd long felt he knew most of the wrestlers' characters better than their roleplayers had. Now that he was in control he could have them do whatever he wanted them to. Whatever was best. No one else to hold him down. He began to introduce new characters too, ones he'd made up all by himself. The older, veteran characters found themselves having to deal with the young upstarts. Sometimes he'd have one of the established wrestlers leave for another fantasy wrestling federation he'd invented in his head (and began to create fantasy rosters for those federations too.) As the years went by he retired many of the original characters, even the one which he himself had roleplayed for. He developed new favourites. The backgrounds he created for them became more elaborate. The storylines he wrote grew ever more complex. People would leave and re-enter, some would suffer career ending injuries and leave the business. A couple even died in tragic accidents or drug overdoses. An the matches? He went into insane detail. He downloaded various wrestling video games to simulate his matches, creating all his fantasy characters inside them. This went on, and on, and he rarely thought it was strange. He enjoyed it. It mattered.
It was real to him.
Years and years went by. A decade, more. It was just part of his life, a very important part. Sometimes it was the only thing that got him through the day, thinking of writing the latest installment in his wrestling drama. He found it much more satisfying than actually watching wrestling on tv. His payoffs were always more rewarding. He treated his characters with respect. He loved them. They were everything. And he'd been writing his greatest storyline of all lately, one years in the making. The big showdown between his two biggest stars, the two characters he'd given the most love and attention to over the years, facing off on his biggest show ever.
And then, after he finished writing it and read it all back, as he always did, he realised it was not real at all.
It had been a complete waste of time. It was just words on a screen, words no one else would ever read. A complete fantasy. A waste of fifteen years of life. What had he been thinking? How had he allowed it go on so long? He could die, he literally could die any die. People died all the time. And what would this fake wrestling world mean if he did? Absolutely nothing. It would disappear with him, because nobody else knew it existed. He used to pretend when he was writing his shows that there were viewers, imagine how they would react. He was writing things for those viewers, trying to keep them happy. But they weren't real! There was no one, in any dimension, reading it. None of it had been fucking real.
And yet he knew he'd go back to writing it eventually. Because he had nothing else."
__________________________________
it's like my body is breaking apart
bit by bit
i feel like i'm floating
like i'm going to float away
why does my heart keep beating
how
what is it doing
i can't type without making mistakes
the words are dancing around the screen
the pain in my kidney persists
i'm nothing
it's all been this
this is the only real moment
and it will end
all to dust
all
______________________
a
gajBUT AT LEAST I'M NOT JAMES CORDEN!11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111234uiop[
'p['';u9io9utrjJFEWJriyeha8rwareortjjafffffffffffffffffffffffffffff
nothign
fggggggggggggg
thereis nothing
yes i am going to die
_____________________________________________________________________________
"He was finished. The culimination of years of storytelling, finally paid off. He'd been booking his fantasy wrestling league since he was a teenager. It had been for friends at first, an efed they called it. A group of young men (and one girl, for a couple of months) who would each roleplay as a wrestling character they'd invented. He hadn't even ran this fantasy federation himself, a guy he'd vaugely known was in charge. But he was good at writing. Writing fantasy wrestling scenarios anyway. So he'd ended up doing a lot of writing for the thing. Writing the matches, the storylines, everything. He'd almost taken over by the end. The guy in charge had lost interest. Others had drafted away. He tried to keep it going, but there wasn't enough interest. So it had ended. All those friendships had gradually ended too, he didn't speak to anyone from the fantasy wrestling days anymore.
But he hadn't stopped writing.
He'd kept on writing the fantasy wrestling federation all by himself. It hadn't even been that strange, not having the roleplays to work from. Frankly he'd long felt he knew most of the wrestlers' characters better than their roleplayers had. Now that he was in control he could have them do whatever he wanted them to. Whatever was best. No one else to hold him down. He began to introduce new characters too, ones he'd made up all by himself. The older, veteran characters found themselves having to deal with the young upstarts. Sometimes he'd have one of the established wrestlers leave for another fantasy wrestling federation he'd invented in his head (and began to create fantasy rosters for those federations too.) As the years went by he retired many of the original characters, even the one which he himself had roleplayed for. He developed new favourites. The backgrounds he created for them became more elaborate. The storylines he wrote grew ever more complex. People would leave and re-enter, some would suffer career ending injuries and leave the business. A couple even died in tragic accidents or drug overdoses. An the matches? He went into insane detail. He downloaded various wrestling video games to simulate his matches, creating all his fantasy characters inside them. This went on, and on, and he rarely thought it was strange. He enjoyed it. It mattered.
It was real to him.
Years and years went by. A decade, more. It was just part of his life, a very important part. Sometimes it was the only thing that got him through the day, thinking of writing the latest installment in his wrestling drama. He found it much more satisfying than actually watching wrestling on tv. His payoffs were always more rewarding. He treated his characters with respect. He loved them. They were everything. And he'd been writing his greatest storyline of all lately, one years in the making. The big showdown between his two biggest stars, the two characters he'd given the most love and attention to over the years, facing off on his biggest show ever.
And then, after he finished writing it and read it all back, as he always did, he realised it was not real at all.
It had been a complete waste of time. It was just words on a screen, words no one else would ever read. A complete fantasy. A waste of fifteen years of life. What had he been thinking? How had he allowed it go on so long? He could die, he literally could die any die. People died all the time. And what would this fake wrestling world mean if he did? Absolutely nothing. It would disappear with him, because nobody else knew it existed. He used to pretend when he was writing his shows that there were viewers, imagine how they would react. He was writing things for those viewers, trying to keep them happy. But they weren't real! There was no one, in any dimension, reading it. None of it had been fucking real.
And yet he knew he'd go back to writing it eventually. Because he had nothing else."
__________________________________
it's like my body is breaking apart
bit by bit
i feel like i'm floating
like i'm going to float away
why does my heart keep beating
how
what is it doing
i can't type without making mistakes
the words are dancing around the screen
the pain in my kidney persists
i'm nothing
it's all been this
this is the only real moment
and it will end
all to dust
all
______________________
a
gajBUT AT LEAST I'M NOT JAMES CORDEN!11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111234uiop[
'p['';u9io9utrjJFEWJriyeha8rwareortjjafffffffffffffffffffffffffffff
nothign
fggggggggggggg
thereis nothing