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I am jealous, supremely so, of those whose life is handed to them on a silver platter: whole, and unblemished.

Intelligence, beauty, love, security, a whole belief system, customs and traditions are given to them. And they, without a second thought embark on the fateful journey heavily and joyfully equipped with pre-exstence's gifts.

I have nothing, nothing at all. I hang onto a precarious life by attenuating thread. Knowing forever, no matter how hard my muscles ache or my fingers bleed, I will never reach those born high in falconhursts and painted bowers.

In this agony of mind, just enough to dream, and only dream, to see the lofty sentiments flying high above and around, all I have ever wished. They flit pass me, feathery light caresses against my cheeks. How I long to touch them! Yet if I reach out and does, I shall fall deep into the dark abyss below, beset with the same-lost, determined, weary dreaming souls, I shall fall. I can hear their cries of despair, of encouragement. "Go," I hear voices of whispery strength, "Go up high and soar into the skies, enter the mountain king's hall."

The white fluttering things continue to pass me, drawing and destracting me at the same time. Their ethereal beauty, the perfume in their wake leaves me dizzy with desire that I feel my neck arching backwards, wanting to fall into the arms of eternal gravity.

And yet then I see, they are hiding something, they are consealing those climbing up above me. Furthering on, other's laughter and lightsness slid down, crashing my face, gagging my dry throat. Their coloful packs glimmered vibrantly in the morning sun, thousand dollar ice picks and carabiners a brilliant white fire from afar, so alike the white fire I will to burn in.

I cannot breathe, I cannot move, frozen with envy, there I hang, immobile, feeling soft wings getting stuck on my cheek.

Ah the cool wind, may you be an upward draft, carry me now, please, just like in the old stories.

The conscious shape reality.

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The following comments are for "An Outburst of Envy"
by Furius


First off let me say that your writing is very good in the connectedness department, as you have no problem describing yourself with imagery and feeling. As a Weblog [i.e. replaced often - never to be seen again] it works well. But if i were to come across this through random websurfing, i'd be two things: 1)A little curious as to why you feel you've been dealt a shoddy hand (it seems to suggest this repeatedly but gives no concrete answer) and 2)What the 'vein' your weblog lies in... is it poetry, journal, simple reflection, or what?

Please don't take these comments harshly, it was an enjoyable, if yet a tad melodramatic piece. Maybe it would fit better under the heading 'poetry'? Keep it up!

( Posted by: phylum sinter [Member] On: June 17, 2002 )

re: phylum sinter
What can I say, it's an weblog, I basically copy and pasted it from my blogger.

Let's just say it was in a moment of high angst before finals when I wrote this.

I am not sure about poetry, I would actually say it in the rant zone, the vagueness would be because this piece is a venting of pure emotion.

( Posted by: Furius [Member] On: June 17, 2002 )

I agree that at times it's somewhat melodramatic, but I like your use of imagery and the writing is good. The piece works well as an allegory for stuggle and it's a pretty interesting read.


( Posted by: Richard Dani [Member] On: June 18, 2002 )

Thanks to everyone who reviewed this.

Jessica, I swear "does" is definitely not on purpose. The critic in me is also roaring, half in mockery and half in anger. Thanks for pointing that out.

( Posted by: Furius [Member] On: June 18, 2002 )

I feel your pain and anger towards those people. Growing up in a rich neighborhood and not being rich myself, I saw all of thos spoiled little bitches everywhere. Is "Furthering on," a phrase? Isn't it supposed to be "Further on,"? Just asking.

Mr. E

( Posted by: Mr. E [Member] On: June 23, 2002 )

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