User:Sentenal01

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6/25/10

I shake my head, wondering how they feel outside of this place.

Insults, curses, and hate. They are thrown around more than a ball.

I see the moral decay at last. It has taken on a new face, one of ignorance and pride.

See how quick they change their attitudes toward each other, without a second thought involved. It is as though they talk not to people, but to walls.

As I see them intermingle with one another, I pause to consider if all this is an illusion. But, alas, no blessings where bestold upon me, only the harsh reality that they inflict harsher treatment toward one another.

Threats and false promises is what comes out of their mouths, and still they act as though they have the purest of intentions. They seem to not wish to hear opposing words of dissent, so they hurl hate as though it had no meaning.

The most prideful and boastful turns quicker than the quickest of snakes, becoming down from false heights to descend to the true level of dwelling. How one achieves this, I can not comprehend, except that one dose not have any standing to remain…

To react to thoughts not approved to them, they defile any and all manners of subject worthy of discussion. Nothing is safe from their need to feel belonged, misguided and misplaced as it is.

As if a image of disbelief appeared before them, the talks and insults stop almost immediately, to only questions to why it has happened. Only those and shouts of achievements echo through the once boastful room.

As my time here ends for now, I look back at what has transcribed here tonight. I am filled with a sense of hopelessness and disbelief, disbelief that while they hear my words, they act as if I am a shadow of a distant memory, a thought that caused nothing other than hate and ridicule.

6/26/10

I awake to a new day, having the hope that my feelings the other night where wrong, that the place that has caused much suffering could be redeemed. Only time, and they, can tell.

As I await those filled with arrogance to appear, I think about what they will be like in the future, how they will act, and how they will not. I shudder for those not yet aware of them.

After a moments pause, they talk of false history and rewriting of past dealings, not having to deal with their higher esteemed comrades. If only their words could be heard across time, perhaps their words might be closer to the river of truth.

I return several hours later to see another person become a target of words of attack and ridicule. How little things have changed.

With my absence, the records of past events are gone forever, forgotten like their recollection of past actions toward one another. I do not lay claim to those hours, nor can anyone else.

The mob singles in on their prey, taunting and pestering him with insults and the allure of pear pressure. The target then resorts to spam; in turn, they mock.

The meaningless trifle of their talk seems to excite the once silent, boastful to part take in the discussion, as if their reputation among their followers are at the line. How weak their bonds must be to do such a thing.

With their hands cast, the target finally breaks down, and in a moment of what can only be said as part of the plan of the mind of a troll, dose what must be done to rid himself from the room. The line between madness and genius is non existent.

With their first gone from their eye, they go for a second, filled with insults and false evidence. Is their hunger never satisfied?

The truth of claims of ignorance is met with claims of stupidity, as if the arrogant know their target as if they are brothers.

The talk of science seems to lay to rest the discussion, as if they want to end something they can't finish. If they did know of science well, they would not talk of it here.

But as if some spell was cast, it comes back, as if nothing happened. The talks of ignorant people go far in terms of talks lasting a long time.

Talks cease momentarily to look and ponder my words, now, as they look for different talk. They do see my words, it is just that they choose to ignore them until they wish to recognize them.

Echoes fill the hall, echoes of personal triumphs, of temporary triumphs. The mob is unsure what to do; only the most exited begin again, followed by the mob.

As one flings insults, another dose the same. An endless cycle, brought on by one that is its creator, now trying to end it.

Silence fills the room. Hundreds fall silent, waiting for an action.

Action at last; the commands of the boastful now dominate the room. Yet, no one follows suit.

Now that the commands are cast aside, a new person enters; creating discussion at last. It is small but meaningful to them.

Their arms of insults now laid to rest at the moment, they talk about things without hate. Now, it falls on personal dealings outside the room.

Questions answered, and advice given, now reflecting takes place. It is pleasant, though odd for new comers.

An insult is shouted out, though alone it is shouted. The mob remains silent, listening instead to the words of the story teller.

Insults fade, replaced with real and meaning full discussions, ones that deal with life and death. And still, the boastful still boast.

(I take this time to advice the story teller, not wanting to disturb him in his time of need with monologue)

With the talks of real life done, talks of other things come, all pleasant and good. Even the boastful admit to be putting on a charade when confronted.

As I leave for today, I am filled with a happy feeling. For true colors where shown here today, and what I have seen here today strengthens my resolve that not all is what it seems here.

6/27/10

One day ends, another begins. What shall happen on this hazy of days.

A long day was had, and a long day is still there to tackle head on. The records will still be held, to record all discussions and to reveal all dark sides.

As I look back onto the records, I see the people talk, but not for long. I see it turn into dribble and trite.

A long day was had, and a long day is still there to tackle head on. The records will still be held, to record all discussions and to reveal all dark sides.

Work done, I return to the room, curious on what has transcribed in the past hour. What I see is disheartening.

Conspiracy as far as the eye can see, coupled with irrationality. Ad hominids are not rare here.

Lack of proof is proof enough, like garbage some swallow with pride. No evidence is needed for some.

Attempts at reason fail, reactions are muddled with distractions. No point is defended fully.

Instead, points are put forth, then, when addressed, are pulled back. Gorilla war is the proper analogy for it.

The real term Guerrilla is too much of a badge of honor to describe what they do. It is more fitting to use Gorilla; they hammer in their point with force than with brain.

After they tire of their discussion of false ideas, they act as if no such past had occurred. The rational are driven into exile; only the short memory's of the young permit their return.

Small talk is had, along with greetings of friends joining. If only they where present to see their friends ideals.

Then a person unlike seen before appears; he come not with slur words, but with anew thoughts. Amazingly, he is met with words of greetings; what happened before is unknown.

After his departure, talks slow down; slows down to a point where no action is had by anyone. It is refreshing to say the least.

This is where my work is done on the outside, my day completed. They reactions to my words is filled with attack and no thought.

Accusation of baby statements and slur words meet my words, filled also with homophobia. How I wished to see them practice their ideals in olden times.

Hate and rage, attack and retreat they come. They do so in intervals, acting as a larger entity.

Logic is what they wish it to be, along with everything else. They use the smallest feeling they have to justify their actions toward one another.

The smallest feeling they have is ample enough to try to attack someone. Even their feeling of differing words is enough to try to silence someone.

Accusations of spam, abuse, threats, annoyance. These are but a few of what they will say with certainty.

The corruption of authority is uncertain; how dose the aura of the room affect those with pure of heart. Action is the only way to find out.

A glimpse of development has been shown. Perhaps the flow of time will right their wrongs after all.

Their arrogance is high as ever; they claim to know people without ever meeting them. Is the way to know one unknown to them?

Rudeness is permitted here; is nothing not? How can one stay pure of heart if the impure are permitted?

With person of power gone, now comes talk as before his arrival. Like cockroaches they move.

With my words will now come attacks; my words are met with broken words and hypocrisy. But there are words of correction shockingly.

What seems to be self attack toward their own is nothing more than the normal flow of the talks. Racial slurs have no power here.

Nonsense now dominates the room, talks have broken down. How has this happened?

A lack of authority is not the culprit here. For there have been talks without madness entering.

No, the culprit is not with those with power of authority, but of those with power of degradation. That power is only had by those with no scars of the outside.

The sheltered and the spoiled have more power over others than with power here. For it is because the mob is gullible to those who have that power.

Gullible, for the mob has the mentality of a sheep; it is caused from no outside intervention. Many of a community have fallen to this effect.

How is it not sheep, then, to copy the way the mob speaks then? If not sheep, why do they not change themselves for the better?

They do not improve themselves; for them and others around them. To think differently and critically is the way to break off from the mod; yet they do not.

How is it not sheep, then, to belittle others because the mobs dose so? To not be sheep, is it not to do the things that are hard rather than the things that are easy?

They fall silent to my words, as if listening to them. Could that be true, finally?

And as if I had flipped a switch, their mouths are filled again, words filled with hate and insults. Interesting indeed.

Their words have, even, a hint of becoming desperate; as if my words burn them in some way, hurt them in some way. How very interesting.

Ones attempts to understand my meaning to my words in the way I speak is misguided. It is almost as if he is mocking the truth is some way.

I return after a minor detour, only to find hypocrisy running rampant. How can they say their words with a straight face; truth be told, they do not.

Falling to remember past actions, they mock my words, as if it was the first time they heard them. Some mock, some do not.

Words of ridicule fill the room now, not of me, but of their own. Mockery is a thing of play for them.

With things I must prepare for tonight, I leave the room, not sure if anything was gained in the transaction between persons. Perhaps tomorrow will show the effects.