Comments Posted By Eric Harrell

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“Sure Hon, I’ll be sure when the sun rise’s tomorrow” – Preveian proverb meaning: I’ll be absolutely sure tomorrow but for today I am unsure.

He clicked off the light and a ding rung inside of his head. He knew it was time, he shut his eyes and drifted off within his bed.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 12.30.2012 @ 1:02 pm


I’ve tried to be nice to those amongst, yet I am scattered by the inferiority I feel. Must I revert at every ordeal, kneel to elders whom I’ve outgrown. I know what old age entails. I know that my youth is a fleeting state. I know more because I’ve seen more yet I am not brash. I litsen and I sympathize. And yet stifled and ignored I remain, patted on the head by the unfair distinctions between someone else and me. This seething emotion deep seated within me, it’s a terrible grasping thing. I will no longer be tied by weak links, I seek the stronger ones of those more endowed and so I will not adhere to society’s right to align the fates. I will be a leader, in this life or the next.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 12.21.2012 @ 7:06 pm


I flew as two to see the season’s holiday joy,
And boy, I was consumed with a blanket of snow to enjoy.
A fellow then came, fell more like,
a white cloaked man with a big appetite.
“Evening Eric, I hope you’ve been nice,
but without a list I’ll have to trust your lack of vice.”
I bowed and sprang,
and showed him the town,
round Toronto, its glorious down-town crown,
and in the urban blanket, Santa did drown.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 12.21.2012 @ 9:07 am


Be patient in your studies, and the answers will come to you. Well to that I have one slur and that you can guess that little cue. I’m not vindictive, just tired of this true and tried formula of living. A pitiful patient of this peaceful generation, yet all I want is to achieve and receive, have the world handed to me by its hypocrisy. And fuel the cycle, for tomorrows evolution. SO yes I would choose life B, a brain in a vat is preferable to reality. A reality where reality is just a set of created metaphysics, to be later manipulated to pull the wool over your eyes. But would it really be so bad? Life would have nothing but death would rob you something you never had. And life itself may not be the end, an endless scenario of life might be at all and you, a mind, a ego, a conciousness would never know and never know to lament. Immortality made fresh, with a disconnected quasi beginning and end. Yes I’d like that, a silver plater, steak and potatoes, fine dinner meal, I supply Smith and with my memory wiped, experienced another brilliant life at last.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 12.13.2012 @ 5:32 pm


Be here now makes you think of what has been made available to you. The series of events and sheer coincidences or small world occurrences have to lead you to question the certain influences in your life. Andy Whitfield was an amazing actor, but he seemed to be an even greater person, one that I personally think I’ve purposely been influenced to…his journey was not for waste, its effects live on in his fans and me, a casual admirer…combined with all the other great people and events around me to some grand extent. I feel it. I know it.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 12.11.2012 @ 10:09 pm


Here at Imperial Foundations and foundry, ideas are presented with a hopeful excitement. We take those ideas and turn those people down. Together with Progressive counsels and National Cohesion organizations we make sure that the world is moving forward in the governments interest using the people’s innovation which we spur with our media infusions and subliminal motivations. Come, and join our ranks as the leading party in the world’s natural course.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 12.10.2012 @ 7:03 pm


Methods of a criminal marked the streets with a long streak of green and the flow followed back could trace to your pockets. Now you don’t vilify this money, just the people responsible? Follow the logic.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 12.09.2012 @ 8:40 pm


The hot month, I shudder at the thought of sweat creeping down along my back and my hands clammy from the humidity. Tears from the fireworks dripped down the sky, I had accomplished with making man into machine but his existence was short, a fact he mortally lamented.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 12.08.2012 @ 10:56 am


Should they both seek the same thing, a deal should be struck.
Contact contracts at their meeting after a night’s charade of hoofs,
And on the next morn’ town criers should shout of some compromise,
parents sighing upon the release of their children and opportunists thrashing against fate.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 12.03.2012 @ 6:13 pm


A morin-khuur, strumming itself by the window pane where a beam of severed light washes over it with dawn’s hue. The people danced, swimming in their tears and twirling as the object became their very reason for existence. One amongst many, it had that power; an instrument as the One Ring.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 12.02.2012 @ 4:05 pm


Awake beyond the mornings rise, dawn as shame for what he couldn’t complete during the day past. The bible sits on his lap, headphones on his head and a slight chill so slight that one would not normally notice it, has chosen to blanket his arms. A pen lies between the two pages. Gospel of mark as a work of effort rather than pleasure, faith shall never take root in this context. If the martyr messiah were alive, or if he were to be divine, he’d not wish for his work to be forced! Then again what isn’t.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 11.29.2012 @ 10:49 pm


The past is that which can never be repeated again, yet we repeat it in memory so should I amend? We regret and lament for some fact that can’t be changed, an outcome, a small choice, it haunts us time and again, years down the road. Take what you can from the past, mistakes that were made should be be avoided when the time for such a choice comes again. It is this way we reconcile the past, we review and forget some moments but take the best with us. Seems like I’ve struck a chord in you, and in myself.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 11.29.2012 @ 6:37 am


Clawing at the dirt with his trimmed nails, the soil came crashing down in clumps but the ground from the other side was cold and though his fingers were numb, he could feel the drip of blood. Was this his doom? Buried under by those villains?!

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 11.27.2012 @ 4:03 pm


Brazenly sauntered out of the local 147 bus and out onto the streets where I staggered forward, jay-walking narrowly avoiding cars and other hazardous vehicles.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 11.26.2012 @ 2:43 pm


I’ll be coming home soon, Johnny – Love, Your Pops

Only he never came here. I had heard a rumour, scuttling as it was in some dainty black-market shop. First day in the Fringe side and already had a shopkeeper sneak up behind me and tap me on the shoulder. “Want something?” Only I hadn’t known that he had already took something off of me. A rumour cost me the rest of my lightened pouch.

Rumour had that he went out west, in search of his family, his real one. So I trekked across the hills of prairie, ran into some troubles and came across a gal who told me bout all the mischief in the city. Spent some days in bars and some outside, thinking bout my Pa all that time.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 11.25.2012 @ 11:23 pm

I’ll be coming home soon, Johnny – Love Your Pops

Only he never came here. I had heard a rumour, scuttling as it was in some dainty black-market shop. First day in the Fringe side and already had a shopkeeper sneak up behind me and tap me on the shoulder. “Want something?” Only I hadn’t known that he had already took something off of me. A rumour cost me the rest of my lightened pouch.

Rumour had that he went out west, in search of his family, his real one. So I trekked across the hills of prairie, ran into some troubles and came across a gal who told me bout all the mischief in the city. Spent some days in bars and some outside, thinking bout my Pa all that time.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 11.25.2012 @ 11:18 pm


The low thrum of his voice carried itself across the tavern’s floor like a mist, Mystindil was at it again, telling his famed stories and more than twice the towns residents had gathered for the harrowing tale. He knew as did everyone else, that his stories were taken from another Story-weaver from less than a century ago but with every story his interpretation pierced the doubts of the crowd, and he was able sway audiences with every pause and ballad. The man went down in history, as famed as the heroes in the tales.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 11.21.2012 @ 4:43 pm


I happened to mention a rumour, at the time I had meant it as a tip. Loosed with time, it travelled through several dozen mouths through twice as many lips. Spreading like a swift Goddess, with cities tainted and citizens infected until it coalesced upon a single person, in a form much like a dagger in her back. She knew of my betrayal, secrets at her bed now threatened her reputation. My Queen of Carthage, t’was not spurred by my choice.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 11.18.2012 @ 12:05 pm


A thought can travel a mile a minute within the geography of your mind, and on its path, any splinter of inspiration can be an alteration that leads to a tree of possibilities. Yet because of its nature of momentous flight, it can revise itself or simply disappear to swarm within a dark space, a hidden compartment of your mind. When we somehow tap into this dark space, this void of lost thoughts, incoherent in compilation, we are suddenly flooded with this sense of suddenness, a similar feeling to enlightenment or divine inspiration, but most of this know this feeling as Deja Vu.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 11.17.2012 @ 2:48 pm


Artworks, illustrations backed by different and incomparable motivations. The dark form of dragon across the sky, a sparse black world visible behind a draft of sparkling stars. Layers, bounds we crossed them to cross that sentence out; rewrite, review, resee – check our dictionary; become the new Shakesphere, create words to fit our purpose. Mine the Elysian fields for blooming regrets, and set our hands across the clouds in the sky – complete the bunny’s ears, the ladles end and lay, peacefully, from dawn to late in the night. Hear a violin, piano quick keys, heartening, brightening, peaceful hearkening, seeking a place within ourselves, the envisioned solitude of some inner sanctuary. A build, low it rises, motivation, on the horizon, a long sunder of the bow. Over the mountains a pan, a ship upon the sea, a rocky cove, a cave and then longing for a home, more of an identity than a location. Circular journey. Romantic fate.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 11.13.2012 @ 9:02 pm


That song, reoccurring; I hipstered it. I am young, a creature of culture, a spurious collaboration of likes and thumb ups. I comment to acquire reaction, I am never lonely. I respond to respect and I forever lurk.

Where will this generation go? I genuinely admire and fear it.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 11.12.2012 @ 11:32 am


When does the week end? When you lay down spent?
I asked my self one night only to be disappointed next month
A rhyme in a bunch, its denial took me with a punch
knocked down and defeated
I wondered if I’d ever submit anything ever again.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 11.11.2012 @ 5:55 am


“Hear our roar!” We yelled to the jocks in the opposing car, we stood in our multitude of uniformed shirts each a representation of our favourite house from the Song of Ice and Fire series. Most of us wore Lannister colours, proud as they expect one to be. People snickered of course but we had outgrown those worries, in our own community we were kings! Unrivalled storytellers, Dungeon Master extraordinaires! Writers and fans, we were shapers and creators in our realms and that was enough to give us the courage here, in tragic static reality.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 11.09.2012 @ 11:18 am


They kept it to themselves, the secret treasure. Far from home they hid themselves away to share fortune together. The world was inconsequential and its daily duties weren’t worth much. Times were tough, people of their creed were destitute, exiles in their own land. So Maria and Brynojff bit the bullet, the shared diary of the two scattering along the winds page by page for the world to discover or forget piece by piece.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 11.08.2012 @ 6:00 pm


OneWord, the Muse’s tool is back and I implore my own return to its use.

Wearing a baseball cap, as to conceal her identity from another in the crowd, Martha otherwise enjoyed the game. Major league baseball was her desire away from duty but it did not bode well that the mother of one of her brother’s friends was here as well. It was a pinch of misfortune, and despite the inclination to see it as her divine fate, according to the cosmic principle of Karma that dictated justice in the world, Martha hadn’t experienced much else to present the circumstance as much else than chance. The mother was here, cheering, ignorant and Martha had to do the same to a lesser degree, her price for paying the mother’s son for his silence of her sexual advance. And Martha, known as a prude insufferable woman found herself at a crossroads of a moral qualm, should she risk the mother seeing her honestly and possibly forming suspicions based on the duplicity of her nature, or should she hide and keep the betrayal of form from getting out.

I went over the time limit, this paragraph was a welcome distraction, this paper – on another tab – is terribly aggravated to write. My inability to capture a grand intent will be made clear as I drift to sleep and work the next morning regretting the time I squandered, not here, but elsewhere with non-productive actions.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 11.07.2012 @ 8:04 pm


Frustrating top to bottom construction, we leave the confused behind while the well-informed, well-bred, well-supplied become the heads. We base value upon success and then decry those who grow fed-up. Is it no wonder that some others would gladly see the world burn? Certainly we reference it several times in pop culture because the idea lingers, when there are those left behind and lose all hope of ever making it back within the grace of social solidarity, they will commit the heinous, the radical, the unusual in order to garner some recognition.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 02.12.2013 @ 4:20 pm


I’ve learned from loss. I’ve gained knowledge from failure. I double my efforts now, to reinforce my attempt. Eager student of life, English student of University, rebellious student of misfortune. A learned child, yet forever I fear I will never be able to tempt or influence the world. Am I not right to fear? Is it not rational? Should a learned person not fear waste of their knowledge?

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 02.11.2013 @ 11:39 pm


It was a masterpiece, he was a perfect Juliano. He leaned back and stepped quickly into the next dance step in tune with the piano. The masks of the other nobles were delicately crafted while his own was pale and drab, true to his character. He offered champaign to the chaperon, he took a dance with Princess Marionette, he ate hors d’oeuvres with some of the older or rigid aristocracy and then he swung from dancer to danger in a brilliant display of synchronized twirls. His façade in and out of the play was exact and then over the course of several moments, all the other actors dropped to the floor, poisoned on two stages and alone he took a sip and initiated the finale.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 02.10.2013 @ 6:09 pm


He mixed and matched the solutions, and at the end of it all, he left his alchemists’ table to ponder. Was this right or was this wrong? Brewing a venomous concoction, this could lead to his head on a plate if the agents were not absolutely skilled for killing the king was no small feat.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 10.23.2012 @ 7:40 pm


Forth from within it came. A strikingly diligent personality, who would sacrifice pleasure for duty. It came to him when he was on the verge of collapse, when the stress of university life collided with his everyday normal life and threatened to entreat the boy’s secret desire to become a martyr. Now he was on his way – to what? Well isn’t that the question of anyone’s life.

» Posted By Eric Harrell On 10.22.2012 @ 4:50 pm

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