The Aspiring Archivist

Quote

I really like your insomniac poems

-Cinnamon, a few minutes ago.

 

Well, me too!

Insomniac Poem v3

It's that time again where I'm up too late,

Tonight I had work to complete.

But now I'm done so here's my debate:

Stay online or go to sleep?

 

It might be quite the obvious question,

and yet I find myself quite lost.

Sleep is always the suggestion,

and staying lucid comes with a cost.

 

So why am I so unable

to drop my head and close my eyes?

The issue I find on the table

is the presence of this here screen.

 

I love existing on the Shard,

I'd love to all the time.

But it does make it very hard

to reach that restfulness sublime.

 

So goodnight to all,

goodnight to screen.

Goodnight to friends and hello to dreams.

Wrote this last night. I guess I'll post it.

Weird opening idea for a book I had.

This is probably the weirdest thing I've written. Thoughts, feedback?

Check it out... if you want to.

Check out if interested

*GASP* Happy birthday!!

*taps on notebook*

I must say, I'm seeing a lot of SUs. That's alright, but... yes, a severe deficiency in RP.

*frowns*

EMERGENCY UPDATE:

There is someone next to me at my school library reading a Brando Sando book, I think from the Skyward series. So... potential Sanderson fan in my vicinity!

What do I do?

 

A little passage from a game.

And while he thought it all very odd and wondered if this voice spoke to all people in their dreams, the truth was that of course this was not a dream. How could it be?

Was Stanley simply deceiving himself? Believing that if he's asleep he doesn't have to take responsibility for himself?

Stanley is as awake right now as he's ever been in his life.

...

He would prove it. He would prove that he was in control, that this was a dream.

So he closed his eyes gently, and he invited himself to wake up. He felt the cool weight of the blanket on his skin, the press of the mattress on his back,

the fresh air of a world outside this one. Let me wake up, he thought to himself.

I'm through with this dream, I wish it to be over. Let me go back to my job, let me continue pushing the buttons, please, it's all I want.

I want my apartment, and my wife, and my job. All I want is my life exactly the way it's always been.

My life is normal, I am normal. Everything will be fine.

I am okay.

Stanley began screaming. Please someone wake me up! My name is Stanley! I have a boss! I have an office! I am real!

Please just someone tell me I'm real! I must be real! I must be! Can anyone hear my voice?! Who am I? Who am I?!

And everything went black.

THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END

I think I've started to give up.

Annoyingly, that doesn't make me not care about things.

Well, well,

Look who's inside again.

Went out to look for

A reason to hide again.

Insomniac poem v2

I wonder why I cannot sleep

And then I realize:

I'm listening to Warbreaker

So it's not a surprise.

 

Perhaps I should stop listening,

Sink down and close my eyes.

Yet as I climb the plotline slope

To continue, I decide

 

Insomniac poem: limerick edition

The thoughts racing through my head,

Lore thought up in my bed.

Frankly, I'm certain

That I ought to close curtains

But my mind demands to be fed.

a little poem

So it's over.

The year is winding down.

You can rest.

Make a smile from that frown,

Wish for the best.

 

It may not have been the greatest year

But it wasn't quite the worst.

Now you've got nothing left to fear,

The bubble's not yet burst.

 

No regrets, well,

Maybe a few.

It's hard to tell,

Maybe one or two.

 

Maybe four or five,

Maybe a hundred.

You tried to strive

But you floundered.

 

It's fine, it doesn't matter now.

Just tell yourself:

 

It'll be better next time,

You can improve.

It might've been worse than last time,

But this time you'll prove

 

You're getting better,

Picking up.

Don't stay tied down,

You should erupt.

 

You tried last time,

But now, you see,

You'll do it!

Or, maybe...

 

It won't be better next time, 'cause

Life will be hard.

Why would the future change it?

The future's just another present past the present.

Hey now, look! We're opening presents!

 

First it's Christmas, then it's New Year's,

And I'll be here, crying new tears.

We raise our glasses to the sky,

But what happens when the sky starts falling down?

 

Will it be better next time?

I don't really know.

Probably not, but hey, I've

Still got a while to go.

A poem

based off of my current mental state

Sometimes I sit and wonder where

it all began to fall.

Sometimes I sit and wonder if

I'll make it through it all.

 

It the past few years I've seen

my life go down a hill

that I never quite expected.

Know how I lost, I never will.

 

Did it happen when someone

who I loved dearly died?

Did it happen when disease

forced us to sit and hide?

 

Or regardless of those things,

was I headed down this road?

Will I lose my mind, or somehow find

a way to shake the hold?

 

I thought I'd fly, my wings are clipped,

and I don't understand

why when I know that I could take a leap,

my mind won't let me stand.

 

Is this my fault? It's hard to say.

I hope not, but either way.

 

I'm sitting slouched back in my bed,

fitful thoughts storm through my head.

 

Am I stressed? Yes. Depressed?

Maybe, won't you take a guess?

 

I can't seem to talk to friends,

I just sit there 'till it ends.

Maybe someday when I stop,

I'll never ever start again.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa why is what how.

Tht is all.

Afternoon.

On a scale from one to ten, how would you rate your day?

An insomiac poem:

 

The Aspiring Archivist stays up too late.

He lies on his bed in a heap.

He's got nothing to do but lots on his plate.

He's certainly lacking in sleep.

 

He could be doing so many things,

But instead he just sits here a types.

Waiting for comfort that gentle sleep brings,

While pointlessly passing the night.

 

Unless you do live quite far away,

You ought to be sleeping as well.

Soon I'll retire until comes the day,

So here is my night's farewell.

 

Good night.

And now the school year is over.

I think I'm happy.

Aw, now I just lost the game. Thanks a lot.

Been a while since I did one of these. BUT COOL NEWS!

I GOT THE MISTBORN CARD DECK! IT HAS ARRIVED! IT IS GREAT!

Do any of you remember the kitten I showed off a while back? In case you don't here's a reminder. My brother heard her crying outside at like 3 in the morning. Here are some pictures, then:

and now (we may or may not have ended up keeping her):

Her name is Spinby, which is the result of my brother's sleep deprived nature at the time.

Anyway, like a month later, we found a SECOND kitten outside, probably form the same litter.

He was a lot more feral, but still okay and has gotten better. We found a home for him. My brother named him Jubilee after the Lovejoy song "Jubilee Line."

Finally, less than a week ago, my brother found ANOTHER kitten outside, smaller than the other two. We are fostering him until he's big enough to be moved out and adopted.

My brother named this one Firefly, after the show called "Firefly" he was watching at the time. Good show, by the way.

Well, that's about everything interesting that's happened in this household as of late.

Do you ever have a moment where you suddenly feel like you're going to cry and you don't know why?

Is that a thing with an explanation?

It's distance over time. An unseen velocity manifest in a world of solemn, depressive stillness.

I wonder where I'm going. I hope it doesn't mean I'll have to say goodbye.

We know much of the structure of our grand universe, but so little of what lies beneath our feet.

Only fragments, an obfuscated catalogue of the past to be reconstructed with clues and guesswork.

When I become a piece of the Earth again, chances are no one will find me.

Perhaps some of the carbon will be released into the atmosphere, and later a part of a new living thing.

I'd like to think that some part of me will live on through that, but I will be forgotten. Unattainable history.

There is far too much chaos to look backwards or forwards.

Identity is a losing game.

I'll see you when I see you.

Do you ever start to count

to see how far you'll go?

Do you ever use a word

whose meaning you don't know?

 

Do you ever hold your breath

much past the point it hurts?

If you wrote a poem,

would you write another verse?

Does anyone else know that feeling, when you want to do something and you have the time to do it, but you just don't? Or, really, can't? It's like an invisible wall. I should be able to do these things, easily. This should all have been over a week ago.

It's so much worse than I expected. This week has worn me down, too. I'm exhausted. I can't even try to break the wall, because I can hardly move. I don't think I can fix this. Anything that might change is going to come too late.