#1
The fog settles benevolently on the shady, isolated highway, nestled in the bosom of a winding mountain of abstract thinking. A hermit is grazing on the grass that grows on the ever shifting paradigm of a mountain, and begins to depend on the plants to fuel his free thinking. But ever since the clouds built the detour on the highway, his audience are quietly diverted into a pasture, where they are welcome to graze on whatever makes them feel comfortable. With no one to pass on his thoughts to, his brain slowly deteriorates into the jagged philosophical remnants of a madman, his once flowing river of thinking diverted into a festering pool of inadequacy. The fog that once blanketed abstraction turns to a haze of malevolent memories and insufficient information, and so the mountain weeps at the loss of a friend, and moves on. The hermit, robbed of his sanity, as if sanity wasn’t relative, tears down the detour sign, and erects a new road into the haze; hoping passersby will have the mental capacity to stop in for a rest and a listen before going back to their rolling pastures of ignorance. “Maybe, just maybe”, he thinks, the mountain will return.

C4C, as always.
Quote by Ur all $h1t
I stick stuff in my pee hole.

Gear:

Schecter C-1 Classic
Ibanez S670PB
Stratocaster MIM Standard
Marshall MG30 (its purple )
Dunlop Crybaby Wah
#2
Quote by Wulphy
The fog settles benevolently on the shady, isolated highway, nestled in the bosom of a winding mountain of abstract thinking. Is the fog nestled in the bosom, or the highway? A hermit is grazing on the grass that grows on the ever shifting paradigm of a mountain, and begins to depend on the plants to fuel his free thinking. Ah, I get it. It's all a metaphor. But ever since the clouds built the detour on the highway, his audience are quietly diverted into a pasture, where they are welcome to graze on whatever makes them feel comfortable. With no one to pass on his thoughts to, his brain slowly deteriorates into the jagged philosophical remnants of a madman, his once flowing river of thinking diverted into a festering pool of inadequacy. The fog that once blanketed abstraction turns to a haze of malevolent memories and insufficient information, and so the mountain weeps at the loss of a friend, and moves on. The hermit, robbed of his sanity, as if sanity wasn’t relative, tears down the detour sign, and erects a new road into the haze; hoping passersby will have the mental capacity to stop in for a rest and a listen before going back to their rolling pastures of ignorance. “Maybe, just maybe”, he thinks, the mountain will return.

C4C, as always.


Fog connotes the opposite of benevolence. It usually indicates ominous happenin's. Like if there were to be a pantload of snakes upon a plane, there would be fog beforehand. Also, use shorter sentences. C'mon.

I love it. I love prose. I write more of the meaningful story prose, but this was nice.
#3
Quote by mamosa
Fog connotes the opposite of benevolence. It usually indicates ominous happenin's. Like if there were to be a pantload of snakes upon a plane, there would be fog beforehand. Also, use shorter sentences. C'mon.

I love it. I love prose. I write more of the meaningful story prose, but this was nice.


I was trying to hint that the "free thinking" was overcast in fog, which was fine for the people inside, seeing as they thought freely, but those outside it were apprehensive, and distanced themselves from it. And the highway is on the mountain, I should go back and reword that. And the sentences, yeah, sorry about that

Thanks again, my friend
Quote by Ur all $h1t
I stick stuff in my pee hole.

Gear:

Schecter C-1 Classic
Ibanez S670PB
Stratocaster MIM Standard
Marshall MG30 (its purple )
Dunlop Crybaby Wah
#4
Please read the rules regarding posting limits. You've posted 5 pieces within the last 6 days, which as you'll find out is well over the limit. I'm going to leave the other ones, but this one is getting closed. It will say in the rules when you can repost it.

Thanks Wulphy.