Memoirs of The Fool


Jun 16, 2011
Out of boredom, a lack of tea, and an over-abundance of time on my hands, I've decided to make this thread. What follows is a collection of my memoirs, organized by date (dd-mm-yyyy), and not in the least bit comprehensive. I won't lie, I have no attempts to make a complete record here. You will get pieces of varying length, written in varying styles, from varying times. Some may be days behind, others a yea. Either way, I do so hope you enjoy them, someone has to...
As a side note, I do consider these pieces creative “compositions”. As such, if you have any criticisms regarding the writing itself, fire away~

(A note: I will be moving soon, and as such, will not be able to update this with some of the longer pieces. Who knows, perhaps I will be able to manage a few scraps jotted down on a napkin here and there, but don't expect anything big)

[FONT=Vivaldi, cursive]A Memoir of 09—26—2010:[/FONT]

[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]~[/FONT]A brief volley of fall rain came down, wetting the fallen leaves that scattered the dirt road. The ditches which cut across the ground fulfilled their function. Each ditch picking up a helping of water, making it cascade down the dirt road. I stood at the bottom of the hill, this cascading effect causing me to stand in a small lake. I didn't mind. Even when my foot started to feel soggy, and my shoes like a mass of gel, I was thoroughly enjoying myself.
~ My hair became damp; my clothes clung to my skin. Rain was coming down everywhere now, crashing into the Earth in an astounding, deafening chorus. Yet in the distance, something pierced the sounds around me. A low, rumbling drone; the sounds of metal on metal, cog on cog. Machinery, I recalled, from the work down the road. I had once passed by the place. Men lined the streets or were in their mechanical work horses. The men themselves donning bright orange clothes, wearing bright orange safety caps, and had sweat dripping off of every corner on their faces.
~ Standing in the rain, those images did wonder to get me thinking. At once my brain ran off into the abstract. Playing with logic, building a castle out of pure calculations. It pondered on the nature off life itself with a pure, childish glee at first. It couldn't stay like that forever. Eventually something sharp started to be felt. Pity, wailing up from the stomach, giving the entire thought a nauseous after-taste. At first, I couldn't quite pin-down why. It occurred to me, however, after some thought... These men who were carving the flesh from Mother Nature's bones: they were the personification of humanity. Busting their asses in the weather, every inch of their bodies drown by a continual downpour, they worked to whittle away the millions of years of creation contained in that one spot. To peel back the layers... to create something mailable, something we need in order to survive. In this way, a sort of revelation hit me. The primary function of society was revealed to be the destruction of nature, not the servicing of man. For, where Nature exists in her untamed form, no human civilization can flourish....
~ As the rain died down; as the darkened clouds ahead gave way to sunlight, I could better make out the sounds. Man and steel, working away day and night, side-by-side, soothed by the monotonous drone of the machines around them. For whatever reason—perhaps curiosity—I started to trudge through the mud, intent on getting a better look at the workers. At last, my feet crossed over from mud to pavement, and in the distance I saw hunched figures surrounded by steel giants. Tools in their hands, furiously attacking the dirt below them. Each of them doing their best to make some sort of dent in the earth.
~ I found it rather odd seeing them like this. Working their lives away, only serving to build something that will last the time-span of a year after their deaths. I didn't, at the time, know how any man of free will could be so stupid. I didn't know, that is, until I focused on the scene ahead of me; until I truly took the time to dissect the scene. It was then I saw them: tiny little strings, so much like the one's that chain a marionette to the hands of a puppeteer. Translucent and unbreakable, each man was bound by millions of them. One stretched to the sky, to the hand of some unknown god. Yet another string stretched to the bank, to the hand of an agent, a broker, a loan shark... One to the White house, one to the television; one to the wife, and one to the baby. If you strain you eyes, these strings become ever obvious. They are there—in control—when the men open their mouths. When they work. When they fuck, sleep, think, eat, and exist... Then, without warning, they vanish from sight. Hiding themselves with some form of magic only humanity could conjure.
~ By this point in time, the rain had completely died away. The clouds that blocked the sun had dissipated, giving way to sunlight. With a heavy sigh; with a heavy feeling of plaintive remorse, I turned my back and walked home. My feet left the pavement and hit mud once more. I had returned to my original setting. Surrounded by forest, glistening from the shower minutes before. The place struck something like an awe inspiring beauty; contrasting with the paved road a few yards behind me.
~ I continued marching up the road, turning into my gravel drive-way. Behind me, the sounds of machinery still echoing through the air. Those men would work until their skin went raw. They would chip, and dig, and kill anything, just so long as payment came from it. Tomorrow, after having my breakfast and washing it down with a cup of tea, I would still be able to hear those people. No sleep was needed, no break given... Just money. Money was the great motivator, the great exploiter, the great god of society. With it, the working men could be happy doing anything. Even raping Mother Nature of her creations. These thoughts began to cause some unknown change inside me. What I thought became feeling, and at first I had some trouble deciding just what that feeling was.
~ Pity—the emotion that had flooded me at first—took its place as my first guess. But as the emotion grew deeper, stronger still, it was reveled to be hate, and I stormed into my house angry at the world. Slamming the door behind me, running into my room, I wanted to find something sharp. To go down there and cut the men to pieces for whatever reason was in my head. Ecological harm, monetary stagnation, wasting of air... Whatever reason would allow me to grate the motherfuckers into find chunks. Into something more mailable. Funny, the logic of a pissed off teenager. I had worked myself up into such a lather that as my mind grew tired, the desire hadn't even started to dissipate.
~ I fell asleep to the thoughts of murdering men. Admittedly, being a vindictive person, this wasn't this first time. Admittedly however, it was the most pointless.
~ My siblings woke up around six, waking me up with them. Screams were issued, bellies were filled with breakfast. Brother complained about this; sister bitched about that. All the same shit; all the same drivel. This was at about six am, as the sun had yet to even peek over the horizon.
~ By seven, I had gone about my morning routine. Hundred and fifty sit-up, fifty push-ups, write for an hour, drink copious amounts of tea... At eight, the sun had just peaked over the treetops. Beams of light could be seen shining through the forest. Darkness still hid in the corners of the house, but for the most part I could see everything perfectly. Being small and half-built, the house only had two rooms. My room, shared with my three siblings, being more-or-less an addition. The second room served as the kitchen. A loft in the second room, accessible through a ladder, acted as the parent's room. Having no walls, all these rooms were barren. Visible OSB and studs constituted the walling; wood and rugs constituted the flooring. To this day, the house is a blend of homogenous browns, only broken by the furniture and appliances which line the walls.
~ Opening the door, I stepped into the outside world. Last night's chill was still in the air and dew on the grass. The dew catching the light and shinning like a million diamonds strewn amongst the grass. In the distance, the soft hum of machinery could be heard.
~ I almost expected the anger or pity to surface again, but it had abated. All that was left was a deep sense of emptiness. I don't know why these sort of things affected me. Whenever they did, however, I ended up feeling raped, used, and tossed away. Life was a detached entity and I could no longer affiliate myself with. The trees, in all their vitality, looked like foreign objects from another planet. I was just waiting for something human to cut them down. Given enough time, this entire forest would be gone. At the rate of expansion we were experiencing, this would be the case no matter were one was. It would be an act of mercy to burn down all the forests in the world now. To let the fire light up the night's sky for weeks on end; to give the world the finale it deserves. A Week of fire and brimstone; of destruction on a biblical proportion. Alas, we would have to just be happy with bulldozer slowly dragging away what is left of the world's beauty. Barren is the landscape left over, and we have to struggle to survive on it. Oxygen levels will lower, fields of smog will choke the air, and we will all be wonder “Why?” Won't that be funny? Asking “Why?” Like you don't fucking know! Because you couldn't stop consuming, because you couldn't stop buying, and wasting, and not giving a fuck. The world was your whore to beat, and you're surprised now that she's finally struck you in resistance? Audacity isn't a proper work for that kind of idiotic behavior! Total ignorance is! We act in complete ignorance as to what we are doing. And why do we do this? Merely because the consequences are not immediate.
~ Now isn't that a farce? If those men working down there knew just what the ramifications of their actions were, do you think they would continue? Even more, if it directly effected them now? Obviously no, they wouldn't. Being undisciplined slobs, most of us will stop with the idiocy at, and only at, the advent of a “slap on the wrist”....
~ A breeze swept over me, and I tried my best to drown this thought. Pessimism, that best describes my outlook on life. Yet why this entire tangent surface by simply seeing a bunch of men slaving for money, I don't quite know. I sighed and started walking down the hill. As I did, my ears picked up a drops of water falling from the sky. One became ten, ten became a hundred, and in the course of a few seconds, the world was battered with a torrent of rain. On the dirt road, a fresh layer of leaves started to become wet from the weather.
~ The rain made a tremendous racket, sploshing up mud and sounding like a million tiny dishes clanking together in chorus. Yet out in the distance, you could still faintly hear the men and their powered equipment, craving more flesh, whittling away a little more from the surface of the Earth.
[FONT=Vivaldi, cursive]A Memoir of 09—27/28—2010:[/FONT]​

[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]~ By the time I was done mowing the lawn, the sun had dipped behind the trees and painted the clouds with bold strokes of neon. Blowing the grass clipping out of my nose; setting the mower up in the shed, I walked into the house and fell onto my bed in exhaustion. [/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]~ Never before had I super-heated my arms, put them through a taffy-puller, and ran an electric current through them. However, if I did, I would imagine it would feel something like my arms did after these bouts of mowing. Bouts brought on by the helpful encouragement of parents who seemed to think that, (1), mowing built character, and (2), it needed to be done. I personally shared none of these sentiments. However, after threats concerning the loss of tea and/or a guitar, I gave in. [/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]~ And died of constant exhaustion, so it goes. Right now, propped up in my bed, able to see with the help of a dim lamp, I am writings this for the purpose of relaxation. Nevertheless, I can't deny the fact that I'll probably be using it sometime. Hell, I've been writing memoirs like made these days; it was only fair that I should...[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]~~~~~[/FONT]
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]~ I woke up today because a bird flew straight into the window. Bam! Just like that, I have a window cracked like a spiders web and painted in a funny shade of gray-red. Well, I hope the goddamn thing enjoyed the last few seconds of its life. I know I did...[/FONT]​
[FONT=Times New Roman, serif]~~~~~[/FONT]​

Kaze Araki

Libertarian Communist
Mar 3, 2011
I was actually looking up for any mention of "him" in your memoir.
Nicely written, but there's someone else that is a better critique than me when it comes literary art.

I'll summon Kurenai Chan.
Mar 4, 2011
Well, honestly I'm not one to comment on recounts of real-life incidents, because you can't really deviate from what has happened without causing the piece to lose its legitimacy as a non-fictional account. I'll focus on the writing, then.

Firstly, the usage of stream-of-consciousness. I felt it was executed well, but you should be more daring when writing streams of consciousness. Throughout the writing I felt that you were somehow trying to suppress your emotions. Go all out with the stream of consciousness. That's the only way to pull it off well.

Secondly, it's obvious that the whole piece (at least the one in spoiler tags) was intended to relay a poignant message - the fact that humans are doing bad things to Mother Nature. I felt that you brought the messages in well. They weren't all squished in one corner of the recount, but came naturally and flowed well, so good job on that. One thing though, the reading experience started to become a bit bland after awhile. I'm not sure if its because of the paragraphs being hard to read (leave a space between each paragraph, yeah), or because I wasn't getting the emotional intensity I'd expect from a stream-of-consciousness writing. You should try to make your writing more vibrant and attractive, and part of that ties in with my first point about how you should take the internal monologue one step further.

All in all, a good piece! I look forward to more from you!