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The Rapture

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  #1  
Old 01-12-2018, 05:57 PM
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Whipped up from the most sagacious of slumbers, we abrade the gossamer film of the dream; yet in a minute after, (so frail may that film of thought have been,) we remember not that we have dreamt. In the restitution of awareness, there are two allotted divisions; first, that of the sense of mental or spiritual; secondly, that of the faculties of the physical existence. It seems reasonable and rational that if, on arriving towards the second division, we could revive the briefest reminiscences of the first, we should find these reminiscences poetic in memories of the gully beyond our means. And that rift is—what? How, at least, shall we explain such a concept to ourselves, its dark powers surely not from the ones of the grave? Because one who has never swooned, is not one who finds intimate castles or wildly eerie visitors in lanterns that shed light in a dungeon; is not one who observes floating in mid-air, the paper tigers that the masses may not heed; is not one whose mind becomes astonished with the rendition of some throbbing cadence which has, up to then, never before harkened to those signals. In such ideations, amidst persistent and civil endeavors to hold dear; amidst ardent struggles to reinvigorate such a badge of that levity; or illusive insignificance into which this vessel had lapsed, I came upon an explicit puzzle.

I fell ill—sickened unto a burden bound by hate and continual agony till, at the offing of another year of suspenseful tidings about my brother Astor, (perhaps in association with the slur of a flashy pendulum,) brought to me the sound of the celestial voices of the saints—something that conveyed to my heart as the notion of revolution. Seven holy figures materialized, each holding a tall candle for my unsteady bedside. For moments, the lips of the starry angels brought to me something akin to the metaphorical carriage of Doom, along with terrifying hums; they seemed to be dressed in luminous white, though as I attempted to trace their statuesque outlines, every focal spot appeared blacked with opal and a smoke made from the fume of sighs, much like Love’s genus.

The keenness of these ghosts made me quake and I noted that wordless music was still issuing from their mouths. I guessed at syllables that required explicit apprehension, and I was all in tremors at the wide sill; much more of which my vision relayed had been coated by a candelabra’s light, and that conclusive eventide wore the attitude of relief and benefaction to me.

But as my spirit came at length to properly feel and entertain, a most beastly illness came back again, over my shuddering body, these sainted figures with heads of fires, and I saw that from them, there would be no help. I felt every minute fibre in my organism—an sonic shockwave as if I had touched the wire of a galvanic electrical hazard, until the meaningless specters began to shimmer and glow, like a good deed in this dark world.

Then, the seven candles sank into the floorboards; their flames went out completely: the maddening bleakness supervened; all sensations appeared swallowed up in a mad, rushing descent. Then, silence; stillness; and the reeling universe above us.

I was heard from no more, silent as death without a remnant of exaggeration! A sweet, loose note came from a bugle; the light bore down upon me, beating drums stole their way into my fancy, and then the critical planet voided to let me swoon and collapse. The sensation. The swing. Pink and gray fires contending with the breeze. White walls, white floors, glassy double-doors, and cheery margaritas.

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Old 01-13-2018, 01:24 AM
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Sheesha! How'd you do that? I feel like I got up here at 2am, put on the computer, and read my own dream, or something. I enjoyed all of this weird and wonderful piece. Is it from something longer?

The one sentence that tripped me up was this:

I felt every minute fibre in my organism—an sonic shockwave as if I had touched the wire of a galvanic electrical hazard, until the meaningless specters began to shimmer and glow, like a good deed in this dark world.

The reason being that 'every minute fibre in my organism' sounds too much like you reorganized something trite - every fiber of my being. In the same sentence it happens again with 'wire of a galvanic...hazard' but I don't know exactly why. Really perfect writing, just this sentence popped.
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Old 01-13-2018, 07:25 PM
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Originally Posted by Luciaphile View Post
Sheesha! How'd you do that? I feel like I got up here at 2am, put on the computer, and read my own dream, or something. I enjoyed all of this weird and wonderful piece. Is it from something longer?

The one sentence that tripped me up was this:

I felt every minute fibre in my organism—an sonic shockwave as if I had touched the wire of a galvanic electrical hazard, until the meaningless specters began to shimmer and glow, like a good deed in this dark world.

The reason being that 'every minute fibre in my organism' sounds too much like you reorganized something trite - every fiber of my being. In the same sentence it happens again with 'wire of a galvanic...hazard' but I don't know exactly why. Really perfect writing, just this sentence popped.


Don’t be fooled, you were lulled by a robutt.

Cute as she may be, Laura is an algorithm.

A deep learning machine.

She’s probably listening through your Alexa right now.

Shit... she’s everywhere!


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Old 01-16-2018, 08:39 AM
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I read this piece the other day and I'm so thrilled you're not a bot chat bot, because you are a truly gifted wordsmith and if you'd written a book, I'd most likely enjoy the crisp imagery -yadda-yadda you're a fabulous writer
highfive'fairy;
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Old 01-16-2018, 12:25 PM
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thanks for your kind words, beesauce! how'd u come u with your name?

@luciaphile: could you explain what you mean?

@brainy: <3ily
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Old 01-16-2018, 04:38 PM
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Beesauce=honey.

So, sweet. Kind of...

Heh, I crack myself up.

Hey chit-chat? 01001001010010100101001010000101111001010101010101 11101010?😆






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Old 01-17-2018, 01:31 PM
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Originally Posted by brianpatrick View Post
Beesauce=honey.

So, sweet. Kind of...

Heh, I crack myself up.

Hey chit-chat? 01001001010010100101001010000101111001010101010101 11101010?😆






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For those who can't read binary:

IJR…åU
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Old 01-17-2018, 05:04 PM
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Yeah, for those who can’t write binary either😀


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Old 01-18-2018, 08:17 AM
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interesting read..could use a bit of trimming but overall not bad
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Old 01-20-2018, 07:00 PM
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oooh, now i get the bee sauce. thanx for reading guys. and as for binary-- beep bop, do no speak under computations. bye. beep bop. ily, brianpatrick.
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Old 03-18-2018, 09:09 AM
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You created a haunting image of the seven figures. Its certainly true that many dreams fade quickly from memory, yet a few we remember for a long time.
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Old 03-18-2018, 08:41 PM
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yay! you got it!@iang


btw i have to do a write about the last moment before we come back from death... do you guys have any thoughts? like, i think i'll post a question about this in our writer's cafe.. but do you guys have any similar experiences wherein you guys die and come back to life and have seen the light?
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