Concious Stories

With time shift, one person experiences all different kinds of life. With a struggle to find his own identity, he had been a good at nothing generalist. Which means he is not proficient or have expertise in any field of work or trade.

This piece is another philosophical thought experiment of mine. I seek to explore and answer the questions: What is conciousness, where does conciousness come from, and how did conciousness come to be? Please take it with a grain of salt as always and feel free to leave any input, criticisms, or opinions on the matter in the comments. Thanks and I hope you enjoy!

Virginia Dantès is invited to a ball held by the Count de Morcerf, where she accidentally stumbles upon a magical item that transports her to another world. This story is in a rhyming scheme much like "A Lie by Them is a Fie for Him". Though I must admit it's not as good. I will rework this and add it, along with the other, into a compilation of short stories that will be all in the same format. Some folklore information before entering the story: The story's main portion begins with the hawthorn and ends with the apple tree. The Hawthorn is said to be a portal to the Otherworld. It represents fertility and death, but is also said to contain knowledge of reproduction and transformation. In medieval times, bringing a hawthorn blossom into the abode represented death, because they smell similar to a rotting corpse. Corpses were kept in houses for days before being buried. This meant people were well acquainted with the smell of decaying flesh. Landon Quert: The Apple tree, is called Quert [tenth letter of the Ogham], and is associated with Samhain-as well as-Apple Day on the 21st of October. Apple represents the Otherworld and CHOICE. Which Landon offers by telling Virgin-ia "don't drink the Lambswool". It can also represent "madness", which the Otherworld magical apple tree makes music that dispels "all want of the Soul". The apple [in this instance, the Lambswool], also brings a person to Emhain or "land of the departed". Halloween Vault 500-600 word prompt. "How will she survive? Will she find a way home or will she get stuck in the monster world forever?"

These are poems about your insecurity, anxiety, and self view.

These Pieces Tells Us What makes the Is The Son Of Mangweqe...

Another Sequel Of What Makes Mangweqe's sun but now diving into his love Life...

This is an on going series of short stories about morality and where it comes from. As a young journalist finds out, the two nudging at our emotions and desires are actually roomies in a small Montana town.

Josh is your steryotypical hot guy with charm, chicks on his arm, and an ego to cover up his true personality and feelings. Jenna is not your typical teenage girl. She has mild OCD, a crazy family, and a need to prove her mother wrong. Jenna and Josh had completely different lives until Josh's parents decide to force a life change on him by sending him to an all-girls boarding school. Jenna's school.

A mind flipped inside out........a consciousness.....no no.....a love...., (y/n x taehyung)

Short poem, from the perspective of a 'caring' stalker.

A man thinks deeply on his relationships and the world around him.

Basically a compilation of poems that I've previously written or decide to come up with randomly. I may share some poems with you that friends have created (I'll shout out to them)... So yup!! Most of my poems are extremely cheesy.

a poem about the darkness, misery and hardships of this cruel world

At an age when a women had a thought. The brightest thought.

Just was thinking and came up with this. This is likely a sentiment that has been stated many times but i'm not sure.

Just scenes my mind puts together when I'm in thought. There's everything- from comedy over philosophy and romance up to small horror stories.

Guide for people interested in psychology 👤 This book may involve Jungian psychology, MBTI typology, personality psychology, self development, objective psychology, identity theories, neuroticism, anxiety conditions, hyper sensitivity & much more! Let's get into it 🤩

My surroundings became clearer with each breathe that I intake, with every passing second, I only end up back at the start; panicking. It's routine I guess but I can't say... the longer I'm at the scene the more I panic and my breathing becomes irregular so to say. Based on real events, this short story of sorts takes you through what i witnessed on a Saturday morning in the hills of Adelaide. The roads are never safe, never have been. Be mindful of that

This poetry defines how we all have just forgotten ourselves. This poetry states how we all are just puppets because we are not free to do what we want to. We are " self concious" . We are "not sure" . We are "concerned". We are "insecure" . We are just "lost" . I think a poetry lover would love this cause a poem does not require a lot of explanations it just becomes deeper and deeper whenever you read it...💕 Enjoy!!

AFRICAN BURDEN by the voice of the soul. They came in ships, cloaked in crosses and crowns, Not to pray with us, but to prey on us. Not to teach us Truth, But to tear it from our Tongues. Chains kissed our wrists like venomous lovers. They ripped our fathers, beat drums out of our mother's breast, and called it Civilization. We bled gold into their coffers. Our diamonds crowned their queens, Our cocoa sweetens their tea, And still they called us Savages. They took our children, not just from wombs But from wisdom - Cut the roots of our languages, burned the libraries in our stories, Then asked why we were silent. In Ghana, in Congo, on plantations from Mississippi to Mauritius, We did not break We bent. Bent under bullets, bent under boots, bent under borders we never Drew, but carry on. They mapped our land, not to understand, But to mine it, divide it, devour it. But listen - Our rivers still run with memory. Our mountains whisper names They tried to erase. Africa is not a wound. She is a warrior. And though her back is burdened, Her spine still sings. We carry Pain, yes. But we carry drums too. Songs still echo in our scars, And our tears water the roots of the generation unbroken.