mumbled_truth | Entries tagged with worth five bucks

--not like I can help it. I don't like to post anything on the Network very much to begin with, but certainly not while I can't even control what I wind up saying. And now it's already recording-- um, hello.

I'm very sorry, everyone, I really don't have anything important to say or announcements or news or anything like that-- I mean, I don't even really want to be posting to begin with. Not that I don't like to talk to people-- I mean, I don't really like to talk a lot, I'm sure there are any number of people who can tell you that, but I don't mind having conversations with friends or with people who want to be friendly. Besides, really, it's not as if I have anything against other people, I just don't really think I have anything worthwhile to say to most of them, and I doubt that most people really want to talk to me anyway, since I'm not really very interesting.

But now I just can't stop talking at all, and I wish that I could, because I keep blurting out every little thing that pops in to my head and like I said, I don't even want to be on the Network but there's something about this curse where it just feels like it's making me go on to the Network and go on and on and I'm just trying to focus and not think of anything-- anything that... that I wouldn't want to say to everyone. So all I can do is think and talk about this curse and wonder if I've spoken enough that I can manage to turn off this device yet and stop this post from being any more ridic--

[click. success.]

I have a brother - an older brother, named Jeffrey. He's... well, he's smart. Incredibly smart, really, and driven. Sociable. Charming. Popular.

[He pauses, then adopts a tone that fondly imitates an absent friend, even if only one other person in the City will know it... to anyone else, it just sounds like he's sarcastically emphasizing the grandness of Jeffrey's achievements, though with fondness and humor.]

Valedictorian. National merit scholar.

[Back to normal now.]

He's everything that our parents could have ever wanted in a son, and I would never blame him for it, it's... well, our parents just put all of their hopes and dreams in him, and set their expectations by his accomplishments. Every time he succeeds at something, he raises the bar just a little bit more.

He's the standard to live up to.

[ooc: At work, leaving in a bit! Tags may be delayed and spotty. UGH I am also SO VERY SORRY for anything I dropped, life got hectic... again ;;]

[voice]

Um-- in case anyone we know is concerned, I just wanted to let you all know that Neil and I are staying at the warehouse, with Rosella. It's... well, a lot safer than our apartment is, and-- I don't know, it's sort of comforting to have more people around with all of this going on.

It seems like it's a good thing we managed to come yesterday, too... it sounds like things are getting worse out there. I, uh-- I don't know if there's really much that I can do, but... if anyone has any ideas on how to fix this and needs people to help, I'll do whatever I can. I mean, if there's anything I can do. I'm not anything special... I don't have any powers, I'm not strong or even exceptionally smart, but... the City is my home. I don't want to see it destroyed. I don't even want to leave. Right now I'm just trying to stay safe and stay out of the way, but if there's something more I can do... I will.

We helped patch the barrier once before-- that was with the deities, and... well, they've been pretty quiet during all this, but... still. There has to be something that we can do.

[later that evening... action @ the warehouse]

[One of the best ways Todd has to unwind is to write. That shouldn't be surprising to anyone who knows him, of course. It's not that it's a form of escapism, though; it's more a way to move beyond dwelling on his current situation and move his mind into a different type of reasoning, one that's more abstract and subjective. It lets him approach one thing from a multitude of perspectives and connect things in ways he wouldn't have thought of otherwise. It's an exercise which makes working through all the conflicting, disorganized streams of thought in his mind seem a bit less impossible.

Of course, this is a bit larger than most of the situations he's approached this way. Right now, all he seems to get is doom and gloom, circular verses that don't work through anything but rather plant themselves firmly in a rut. If anything, it's making it worse.

Still, he doesn't what else to do with himself right now. So he sits on the bed in the room he and Neil have been put up in, in the warehouse, and he writes, and all of his frustrations and fears tumble out onto the paper in a frantic, scrawled jumble of words.]

[ooc: Backtag warning! I'm crashing soon and prob. won't be back until after work tomorrow (though I may sneak a few tags if it's a lighter day >>;). But, I will be backtagging on both this and Wilson's entry from yesterday. <3]

I... I really only had one resolution, and it's not new, exactly, but... something I've been-- well, trying to work on.

Um. I always mean to talk more. To talk to more people I don't know, and to talk to people I already know more. It's... [a small, nervous laugh] ...a lot easier to say that than it is to do it, but... it's worth trying, I think.

And that... well, it's actually just part of it. I generally need to be more confident. I need to... to worry less about what other people think; what they think about what I say, or do, or what I write.

Writing, especially. I should second-guess myself less... revising, rewriting, that's okay, but giving up on something I'm writing? I need to do that less. I have been doing it less than I used to, but... I do still have a way to go. I throw out too many things.

[He hesitates, for a moment, gathering his thoughts.]

I just need to believe that I can be good at things. I never used to, not really, at least never good enough for it to be worth anything, but... now, sometimes I do. Sometimes, now, I don't even just think that I can be good at things, I think I am good at them.

... sometimes, anyway, which... is better than never.

[There's a slight pause.]

Neil? I have something, that you can read.

I know October has a reputation for always being the worst month here, but... well, it seems like a new extreme this year. Definitely worse than last year's was, though... that's the only other one I've been here for, anyway. Um... I guess that doesn't make me very qualified. I hope everyone is alright now, though. It seems like... well, like things are as normal as they get here.

I guess that isn't really a surprise... that it's all just gone back to the way it was. You can't even tell any of it happened, that anyone or anything was different. That's always seemed strange, the way things just... correct themselves, here, and it just expects everyone to keep up, to shift back with it. Like... we're expected to forget things, if everything just seems all right...

The people sort of seem like only thing that changes, sometimes. I mean, that we remember things like this, and that people are always coming and going. Though, at least there's the Hall... even if it's not much, the City remembers that they were here.

I know people ask this now and again, but... what's the longest anyone's stayed here? I... I don't think I've ever heard of anything more than a few years.

[ooc: Very late + Very tired = Going to bed, so tags will come in the morning. Apologies for slowness and love all around <33]

The darkness is all that you can register; there's no depth of field to the space you've found yourself in, no clear sense of direction. You can move freely, no restraints in place, but it's impossible to tell if you're actually getting anywhere. If you reach out, you won't feel anything; the only surface seems to be the ground beneath your feet.

There's no sound other than those you produce, either, at first.

After several long minutes, a stern voice cuts through the darkness.

"What are you doing?"

It belongs to an adult male who sounds angry, impatient; he knows that your answer can't be worthwhile. There's no sense of where he is, though - it easily could have been inside your head.

If you call back to answer, you'll find yourself unable to speak. Shout all you like, you can feel your throat working, but no sound will come out.

Wherever that first voice came from, a second one speaks up, but it's not addressing you. This is a woman, calm and quieter; she doesn't sound angry, rather sad and disappointed.

"He'll just never amount to as much as Jeffrey."

The male voice answers, still irritated, but at least it isn't directed at you.

"He could at least try to make something worthwhile of himself."

And then it is, back upon you even more intensity than at first.

"Don't you ever have anything to say for yourself?"

Try to find your voice again, if you like; it still won't answer. Whatever direction you've turned in, there is suddenly a dim light behind you. If you turn towards it, you will find a low, round wooden table with a lamp on it. Beneath the lamp sits a dog-eared notebook, a pen resting across its slightly curled cover.

You may or may not notice the figure sitting on the floor on the opposite side of the table, knees folded up and arms wrapped around them. Beyond the light on the floor, but just before the shadows recede into pitch black, it's not impossible to make out, but isn't obvious either. You won't feel eyes upon you; they're focused on the ground.

[ooc: Posting from work, tags will be when I get home. Anyone is welcome to jump in, all threads will be considered separate iterations of the dream unless otherwise desired by any involved parties. And yes, your characters can speak now if they'd be inclined to try. <3]

So... it has been a little bit over a year since I've had to write an essay. I guess I might as well.

Equivalence

By one definition, equivalence refers to two statements which are intrinsically linked such that they are consistently either both false or both true. If one were to be false, and the other true, they would create a logical contradiction. By another, it means merely that two terms are presented as being equivalent, and by another it refers to measurement, saying that two things are equal in a quanitifiable value.

These are all literal, textbook definitions, and do little to explain the deeper meanings, feelings and interpretations the word can evoke. Value and worth should not be, but often are, applied to ~~human~~ sentient beings. Is one individual equivalent to another, one life equivalent to another? In society's eyes, is an artist equivalent to a doctor? They both contribute to society, in different and not always quantifiable ways. Is someone from a wealthy family equivalent to someone less fortunate? Certainly their monetary resources aren't, but is this counted in the worth of a person? Is one moment equivalent to another? They both occupy the same space of time, but one can be the most poignant experience of your life. Is one child equivalent to another? In a parent's eyes, can there truly be no preferece between one child and another, two vastly different individuals?

It's strange that a Deity would ask such a question, one who regularly deals in lives as currency; one who suggests that one life is worth the same as another, or that enough memories can comprise the value of a life. To one person, this afternoon may be empty of meaning, spent doing tedious busywork, cleaning or relaxing. To another, this afternoon may be the afternoon they fall in love with the person they're bound to spend the rest of their life with. They are the same afternoon, but to each individual, they are vastly different experiences. One life would be no different without it; the other would never be the same if it were removed.

On a clock, a minute is a minute, each equally spaced, lasting for the exact same precisely measured amount of time. At any point, though, a minute can become the difference between never seeing the one you love again, or getting to say that you love them one last time.

I definitely prefer poetry.

[OOC: Update again as of 6/10 - Crashing, still backtagging. Will get to everything, seriously <3]

[Todd is bordering on hysterical at the moment; he has it mostly under control, his voice just a bit shakier, more unsure; more like he was almost a year ago when he first arrived. The sense of urgency in his tone does carry over, though, quite clearly.]

Does... does anyone know where Neil is?

Um, Neil Perry.

Please.

[After a quiet moment, as if he's not sure if he himself if has anything to add, the transmission cuts off.]

( longest ooc note ever, gawds, this should probably be in tldr )

Um... Is today's curse just to compliment people? Because I had some really... strange conversations when I was out.

Anyway. Um. I was actually wondering if there are... um... any writers in the City? I sort of-- I mean, anyone who's experienced, maybe, that might not mind teaching someone? Um... poetry, specifically.

And... that's all. Um. Thank you.

[ooc: Tags spotty, healing heroics on WoW tonight XD /even more of a dork than you thought]

For a moment, he just stood there, staring at it; the device. The thing that had worked against him on so many occasions, revealing curse day after curse day to the City at large regardless of whether or not he wanted it to. The weekend had been long, tiring. It was bad enough dealing with Neil here to witness him stuck talking like this, but now the entire Network could witness the effects of this curse. And there it was, having tumbled onto the floor, just having happened to hit the right buttons to activate as it hit. All that effort that he'd put into avoiding speaking to anyone this weekend, mere hours from being through with this curse, and it was his own inability to keep something from clattering to the ground that had ruined all of that.
Of course it was far from being the most harmful curse he'd experienced, certainly that he'd witnessed, but for this particular boy, it was a difficult curse to contend with. Forced to speak, at great length, to intimate his every thought and reaction, things he tried so hard to keep to himself, or at least to filter heavily before he ever said anything about them aloud. And here he was, rambling all this off for everyone to hear, hating every moment of it, but unable to stop word after word from spilling forth from his mouth. He couldn't stop talking, and that in and of itself was one of his worst nightmares. Every thought in his mind, everything he dismissed as being too dumb to warrant saying, too worthless to be submitted to anyone else for their input or consideration, and all of that; not just those thoughts, but exactly how much they bothered him, was all out in the open.
He reached down to pick the network device up without an intentional word, but having said more than enough that he never wanted to, eying it miserably. There were much worse things to be cursed with, but that hardly made this any easier to deal with. His embarrassment was overpowered only by his relief as the clumsy, inelegant prose he'd been rattling off finally reached the point at which he was permitted to turn it off.

So... since the last thing I posted on the Network was while I didn't have a heart, I figured I should probably say something now that I do again. I know it's been a few days now, but... I think it's probably better than not saying anything.

So, um... really, most importantly, I want to thank everyone who tried to help me, and figure out what was wrong. I'm sorry I couldn't tell any of you anything, but... it means a lot to me, now. So thank you. Really.

And Princess Tutu... thank you, especially, for bringing my heart back. I... I can't even imagine having to live like that.

I guess... at least all this isn't without a bright side. It'll probably be a while before I start thinking any feelings are stupid again.

Thanks to how my life has gone lately, I don't want to go home.

I know I'll have to, eventually, but... I don't want to. I like it here, and--

I don't know. I think-- I think the worst part is, I'm not sure if I'd rather remember what happens here or not. Because... because if-- if I don't remember, then I won't miss anything.

[ooc: HEY GUYS. You may recall that I did an FML post for Wilson as part of the meme curse during the last grab bag. I figured that I would make the coding that I used for that post public in case anyone wanted to borrow it. You can find it on my personal journal in this entry.]

I think... I finally finished resting up after the weekend. Between the swing contest and the play... and then the snow and the curses? It was unbelievable, but... amazing. U-um... thank you, everyone; everyone in the play, and everyone who came to see it, I-- I really did have a good time. I hope everyone else did, too...

Oh, and... thank you, to everyone who spoke to me when I was cursed, too. I'm alright, really... and I did prove him wrong. Even if he wasn't really here, it... it still felt good to show him that I could do it...

[Attempting to filter... Filtered to Deities || Hackable]

U-um... Excuse me?

I, uh... I was wondering if... I could maybe ask about making a trade?

What-- How did you-- ?

[Silence falls for a few moments, as if some unheard voice is speaking.]

No, it's for-- I'm reading over my part...

[Another pause.]

Well, yes...

[Again, a brief silence.]

U-um... Demetrius.

[Another pause; Todd's voice is growing more distraught and becoming quieter.]

Of course I'm going to talk... I am capable of speaking.

[A somewhat briefer pause; whoever the unheard voice belongs to is speaking to Todd in a brief, abrupt manner.]

N-no... I-- uh. It's just... you--

[Another, slightly longer, pause. Todd's voice is a bare, defeated mumble at this point.]

N-nothing... no... no, sir. I'm sorry...

Current Mood: crushed

Profile

Todd Anderson

Navigation

January 2012

S	M	T	W	T	F	S
1	2	3	4	5	6	7
8	9	10	11	12	13	14
15	16	17	18	19	20	21
22	23	24	25	26	27	28
29	30	31

And all the time he's mumbling.

Mumbling truth.

Entries tagged with worth five bucks

║ fifty-sixth stanza ║ voice

║ fifty-fourth stanza ║ voice

║ fiftieth stanza ║ voice | action @ the warehouse

║ forty-fifth stanza ║ voice

║ forty-first stanza ║ voice

║ fortieth stanza ║ dream

║ thirty-fourth stanza ║ text

Equivalence

║ twenty-ninth stanza ║ voice

║ twenty-fifth stanza ║ voice

║ twenty-fourth stanza ║ voice

║ seventeenth stanza ║ voice

║ fifteenth stanza ║ voice

║ seventh stanza ║ voice

║ sixth stanza ║ accidental voice

Profile

Navigation

January 2012