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Imaginary Conversations

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[04 Feb 2007|04:21am]

imyourally
"Do you think six extra weeks of winter will kill us all?"

"Not exactly."

"No? I figure we'll be extinct come April."

"Yes. That's always a possibility. The only problem I have with the groundhog is that we're going to have winter either way. If that fucker sees his shadow or if he doesn't, still cold as shit outside."

"Global warming?"

"I'll give you that."
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[26 Dec 2006|06:07pm]

smiling_gurl

"No no no,  you don't get it.  I grew up having cats as pets  -there literally wasn't a year I didn't have at least one feline in the house-  and I love cats.  So,  if I call you fluffy or something,  it's a compliment,  got it?

"Sure hon."

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[22 Dec 2006|12:56pm]

smiling_gurl
"I really have to stop writing so many stories where people die and it's not dramatic at all."

"Why?  Is it depressing?"

"Not really.  It's just that,  I keep thinking that somebody else will think I want to kill myself.  And not jokingly either.  Real."

"Well.... do you?"

"Nope."

"Okay."
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[13 Nov 2006|02:13am]

el7mara
Me: Why do you keep doing this?
Him: What do you mean by this?
Me: Nevermind, forget it.
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Me again, because I enjoy annoying you people. ALIVE, I SAY! [19 Oct 2006|12:38pm]

smiling_gurl

"Hey Tina.  How are you?"
"M'alright.  On a slow decent of sanity and happiness because of the lack of intelligent conversation and  friendly faces, though."
"Aw.  Thats too bad.  Think you can hold out until Thursday?"
"Whats on Thursday?"
"Well, thats when the worlds gonna end,  silly.  It's been on the news for a while now."
"Oh.  Yeah,  I should be good until then."
"You still have to keep up with your homework though."
"I know, I know. Fine."

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[16 Oct 2006|10:06pm]

smiling_gurl

Him::  Hello there, stranger.  Going to go write poetry about the invariable pointlessness of life and broken-hearted love, are we?

I just happen to be wearing all black today.  Pure accident,  and all different shades.  Different socks too.

Me::  Uh, no.  I'm going home to eat lunch.

He looks mildly surprised.

Him:: Oh.  What're you having?

Me:: Dunno yet.  Probably just pizza.

Him:: Cool.  I'm having Mac and cheese.

Me:: I thought cannibalism was outlawed here?

   His face twists as he processes that remark.  He bursts out laughing.

Him:  You're funny!!

Me::  You sound so surprised.

Him:: Well I've never talked to you before, gimme some slack.

Me:: True.  I've never talked to you either, really.

Him:: Ah,well.  Have a good lunch.

Me::  Thanks.  See ya later?

Him:: Can't get out of it if I wanted to.  Bye.

Me:: Byea!
                        I walk out the door to the school,  the rain prickling my skin.

(((P.S.  My name is Tina and I am new here.  That conversation wasn't real, but I wish it was.  I could use another friend in school.  Hi.))

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Atop a cliff [23 Aug 2006|11:13am]

gwazniak
As I stood on a cliff overlooking a highway, I felt the soft hand on my shoulder. It was a warm, gentle touch that wouldn't break the skin of water. Normally such a touch of death would scare the shit out of me. But I smelled her sweet CK perfume wafting towards me before she even reached out. It was inviting and intoxicating.

I sighed and stepped forward away from her touch. As quick as I could make it, I turned around as I put my glasses on. My breath left my body. There in the darkness was an angelic figure of grace and perfection. A beautiful woman of 5'5 with a glorious dancers body, underneath an oppressively long blue dress.

"Hello Gary," my love of my life said happily. "I found you. Surprised?" She said, as she immediately stepped forward to wrap those ivory arms around me.

"Not really," my cigarette stained voice croaked out. I immediately stepped backward to the very edge of the cliff to avoid the embrace. My hands shot into my pockets faster than a turtle's head can slip into its shell. They glued themselves to the contents inside. My keys needed holding. I felt the ridges carefully with my thumb.

I stared at her, and continued my thought. "You managed to remember where we did it all those years ago. And remembered how I like coming here. Congratulations, you found out I'm boring. But you knew that a long time ago didn't you? Now go home, I'm married."

"You never liked being happy," she said softly. The woman faded away to memory again.

"You never liked anal," I replied with a sneer, before realizing I was talking to myself again.
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Addicted to the script in my mind [23 Jul 2006|12:10am]

mouette_lunaire
[ mood | contemplative ]

When I recently came back from the bathroom I noticed a large mirror next to the wardrobe. I further realized that the person inhabiting the mirror did indeed seem strikingly similar to me. I greeted the woman politely and complimented her on her remarkably shiny hair. She nodded and asked where I keep my shirts and if I had another one like the one I was wearing. I said that I did and that it was in the laundry bin. She thanked me and walked away to change, remarking that my shirt would look stunning on her.

I silently agreed and continued my journey to the kitchen where I intended to fetch myself a coup of coffee. After doing so I came across, or rather spotted, one of my cats. She had apparently taken to lying flat on her back with her eyes half-closed (or should I say half-opened so as not to insult optimism?). I inquired if she was playing dead. She looked at me and appeared to be rather irritated about my question. She sighed and said that the answer should be obvious. I was rather taken aback by her rude reply, crossed my arms and said that she wasn't doing it very well, just to spite her. Truthfully it had been a beautiful performance but back then I refused to admit so. She then turned slightly and began to move her tail rather furiously, hissing that her acting was none of my business.
I then realized that I had offended her deeply and apologized. I encouraged her to continue her act and hurriedly left the kitchen.

Also I am new to this beautiful community and bid my caffeinated greetings to everyone who is not. In hopes of reading and being read,
La Mouette Lunaire

Edit: Not only is my mind playing acoustical tricks on me but also I could have sworn that when I checked the community the last date's entry was a good amount of more recently. I wonder if anyone is still around for revival?

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[14 Feb 2005|05:53pm]

mmia
[My attempt at writing cliche love drama. I'm inspired by misery. It fuels talent.]

Enter Soebina and Charlie. Soebina - Persian female, 26 with blonde streakes in her otherwise black hair, rough skinned, tall and bony. She wears a dark grey cloak with no buttons, over a black turtleneck, black trousers with white dots, and mahogany coloured patent leather square-toed high heels. Her body is tolerable looking, but a dark and ugly face to top it is necessary.
Charlie - medium height, 23, mousy brown hair and an enduringly serious expression, can have any sort of bone structure, so long as he has wide facial features, and an abnormally square jaw. His hair is done with great attention to detail, perhaps some yellow highlights added to the actor's hair. I want him to look very refined, but his clothes to be simple: a plain white t-shirt or a plaid shirt made of ridiculously flaky fabric. His pants are improperly short for him, even though he's a bit short anyways, wears sturdy uninteresting shoes that take the focus back to his face. His shoes almost say he's the manager and spends all his time at this job and has no time to go shopping for anything that looks half decent. Either that or he just does not think anyone worthy of concern is going to meet him at the Glaciers' Candy and Ice Cream Shop in Northern Kentucky Int'l Airport.

She opens her briefcase on a box of candy only to look in her notebook and check for the time. In a mad dash of necessity, she uses the candy bulk boxes as a desk for her laptop. As one usually finds when one is in an a hurry, only the most disastrous consequences possible can occur from placing fragile items in slanted postures. So as her briefcase is falling back at her and closing on her face, "Can I help you madame?" he asks quite pompously with his arms folded from in back of the ice cream bar. An entirely serious expression is on his face. One cannot see an ounce amusement or displeasure. He thinks he's doing his job. He's always doing his job. And he does it to the best of his ability, because when he's doing his job, he's only doing his job. And he's great at it. He thinks he's a professional candy salesperson (and it's hilarious to all but him).
"Wuh-uh. Yeah. Uh. No. No...No," she says assertively closing the laptop, after the briefcase attacks her and falls on the floor. Everything has fallen on the floor by this point in time. She stands in vain with her hands on her hips. "Oooh. Umm," a little embarrassed but like usual hiding it in assertion, she walks up to the ice cream bar and suddenly realizes she recognizes the person behind it. "Ma'am, is there something you want?"
"You called Madame a minute ago."
"Well that is before I knew who it were. After I realized who you are, I realize I could never call You Madame."
"I'm a customer," she says.
"Right. Did you come here just to bother me?"
"No. I came here just to--just to buy ice cream."
"There are plenty of other ice cream parlors. Surely you didn't have to come he-"
"Not in this airport."
"Well you certainly didn't have to come to this airport, Sabbie."
"Don't call me Sabbie."
"Oh-kay," he pauses amused by her intensity and insistence, "Fine, so what would you like?"
"I don't know. What's the hardest thing to make?"
"Why are you making this so difficult?"
"I'm not making anything difficult. I'm just a customer. You're supposed to wait on me. Remember? Unless you've forgotten your job in your hatred for me. And I want the most difficult sundae to make." He glares at her and picks up a spoon, "Nothing is too difficult for me, [pause] except you,"
"I bet. So make the sundae and get on with it," she smiles viciously. He glares at her and kneeds the cake with the cream.
"I thought you're supposed to sing?"
"What?"
"Yess--it says Singing Galateria on the promotional sign out there. Aren't you supposed to sing? I always thought that Glaciers' workers sang."
"Yes."
"So sing."
"You want me to sing to you?" he looks at her with a completely disgusted expression.
"Yes. I want you to sing. Sing. Now."
"You know what; I only sing for tips."
"Then you won't get my tip."
"I don't need your tip!" he places the cherry on top.
"Somehow I think I'm not getting the same treatment as the rest of the customers."
"Yah, think? Five o'eight, please," he looks with a deadpan expression.
"You didn't sing! I wanted you to sing."
"Sabbie--what do you want?"
"Don't--call-- me--Sabbie; that's not my name. My name is Soebina" she says vindictively.
"You didn't have a problem with it before."
"Yeah, that was when I knew you."
"Fine. Soebina, what are you doing in my candy shoppe?"
"I'm just buying an ice cream like anyone else."
"You're not like anyone else-" he stops and realizes he spoke too soon. She smiles and half curtseys.
"Thanks." he half-smiles in spite of himself.
"You're welcome," he bites his fat lip, "What happened?"
"Uhhhhhhh......You said such horrendous things about me!"
"Yeah, well you said horrendous things about me too."
"And they were all true. You are tyrannical!"
"I know. But Steven told me that it were endearing to you."
"It is endearing to me. I think it's sexy when a guy is an obnoxious tyrant."
"No, it's not sexy to you. You acted like you didn't like it. What didn't you like about it?" he starts to put away the utensils, and wash them. It's past closing time and all the workers have left.
"I don't necessarily think that being a tyrant is unattractive. It was that you were psychotically deranged too; that was the problem."
"I know I'm crazy. But sometimes being deranged is necessary in order to be tyrannical."
"No-it isn't. It was that you were a control freak and-- obsessive compulsion is indicative of mental illness. It's not healthy." He realizes he's washed the spoons in a manic obsessive compulsive fashion, and quickly puts them away furtively. He stares at her again, and puts down the doors on all the cases. He grabs the keys; and not even giving her the time to walk through the door, walks right past her. She scrambles to gather her belongings, enough to form them in an abbreviated luggage carrier outside the shop. He rolls down the door of the shop. He disregards her as he turns the other direction, picking up his absurdly neat satchel, and walks away. Not out of unfeeling does he do this, but because he no longer knows how to say what he wants to say. He no longer knows what he wants to say, or even if it should be said to her. She is left there wondering whether to say "I'm sorry" or "Wait," or anything that would make him stop. With every moment she thinks that the preceding moment was the last in which she had an opportunity to change anything, and she regrets with each passing moment that she did not know what she knew in the next. She keeps thinking to herself what it would be like, if she had the guts to say "Wait."
***
"So what should I do?" he would say, turning around.
"You need to give up fighting 'us.'"
"I know," not regarding the many times she fought with him, as it wouldn't serve any pertinence to the moment. "But why do I have to give up? Why can't you give up?"
"Because you're the man."
"That makes absolutely no sense."
"Of course it does. You're the man; therefore you have the power to give up. I don't."
"I don't actually have the power," he says. "You're just saying that so that I end up ceding more to you."
"That's exactly so," she would smile.
"So where do we go from here?"
"To the bagel shoppe," she says cleverly searching for an apt place ahead of time, as she could guess what was going to be on his mind (since really she was guessing it now).
***
But after the bagel shoppe, then what would they do? There would always be a point of unresolvable conflict. They would always hold a grudge against one another when it was all said and done. So it was best that they hadn't met, best that they never had known each other, best that they do not continue together. She reckons the only proper thing to say is nothing at all. She stares down at her ticket, and like one who feels she ought to be fully engaged in some overwhelming occupation, but is barred off from it by some technicality, she walks wastefully to the gate. Her best friend in New York would be saying, "What do you want with a candy store clerk anyway?!" They wouldn't understand.
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[31 Dec 2004|04:29pm]

anyachan
The other night, I couldn't sleep because the cheese in the fridge was singing "Voodoo" by godsmack.
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[18 Nov 2004|03:25am]

anyachan
OK, here's one:

Him: Hello, mike check, one, two, three...the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.

Me: Oh no, not you again.

Him: What's wrong?

Me: You guys always tell me to kill myself. I don't like that.

Him: No, that was some other people. I -swear-, I won't tell you anything about suicide.

Me: Promise?

Him: Promise.

Me: All right. Go ahead.

Him. OK. Now listen. Dude: you have -definately- -got- to kill yourself.

Me: I have some butter, but there's nothing else to eat.

Him: I have some red leather boots. You can put butter on them.

Me: Cool...I guess. I'll try that.

Him: I have this perfect replica of an ancient mongolian fortress. Everything is precisely to scale. You can put butter on it.

Me: I had a baby with a cougar, but the other cougars tore it to pieces.
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[14 Sep 2004|04:02pm]

anyachan
Cast:

Vavavivika
Gender: Female
Appearance: A doe with neon blue flames instead of eyeballs.
Occupation: Helicopter pilot
Blood Type: C I told you so
Personal Quote: “Hi, I’m Vavavivika and I’ll be your protagonist for the evening!”

Reginald
Gender: Male
Appearance: Unknown
Occupation: Technician
Blood Type: 13
Personal Quote: Unknown

V: “There are actually three: Moon base sigma and moon base Q, which aren’t complete yet, and the moon base proper, where we work.”

R: “Oh, OK. Wait a second! Why is there a moon base on earth?”

V: “For the parking. I think a better question would be why you’re carrying around a violin made out of ham.”

R: “It’s a fiddle.”

V: “Fine. But let’s eat it anyway, I can’t even remember the last time we had food.”

R: “Absolutely not! Why don’t we eat that dead guy…”

V: “That you killed.”

R: “…before he starts dripping all over the place.”

V: “Sorry, I’m not into the whole cannibalism thing.”

R: “Well, he did eat more recently than we did. Maybe there’s something still in his stomach. Hand me that knife, please.”

V: “Bleh, I hope it’s intact.”

R: “I hope it’s a hot-pocket!”

V: “If you hadn’t killed him, he might have shown you where the emergency supplies are kept.”

R: “He kept following me around!”

V: “He was your bodyguard!”
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Cool album [26 Aug 2004|07:28pm]

infrarae
[ mood | silly ]

me: Were you out in the rain? Are you cold?
Juan: Do you have brandy?
me: Sure, I'll pour you some.
Juan: Did you get it?
me: You mean the album? I didn't find the one we were looking for but I got this one instead. Say hi to John here on the cover.
Juan: Hi John!
me: That's how I got this album. The pictures talked to me.
John on the album cover: Hi there. I've been talking to this chick all day. We have been talking about effortlessness.
Juan: How do you define effortlessness?
John on the album cover: I'd say that it is accepting yourself as you are. Big imagination - beautiful, big ass - beautiful. All is beautiful as it is.
me: He has been eyeing up my ass all day while I have been trying to start up an intelligent conversation.
Juan: Have you listened to the album yet?
me: Not yet, I have been too busy talking to the cover.
John on the album cover: Great music, you know.
me: You have to be quiet while we listen.
Juan: Here, I'll turn the picture to the inside. That way he'll probably fall asleep.

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And I thought that I was alone... [26 Aug 2004|10:22am]

infrarae
[ mood | happy ]

Strange really to notice that there are also others out there that get into conversations with imaginary people. Inside my head I have been talking to imaginary people or people that I don't even know for the last fifteen years. I really enjoy these conversations, I am somehow addicted to them. If I should choose between an excellent TV program or a lame imaginary conversation I would probably go for the conversation. Nice community!

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[03 Aug 2004|10:25pm]

anyachan
Green Light: "Hello, I'm the little light that tells you when your computer is on."

Anya: "I find it difficult to believe that you have anything interesting to say."

Green Light: (pouting) "I tell you when your computer's on."

Anya: "I don't need a light for that. Didn't I put tape over you the other night?"

Green Light: "Not enough. Well, it's all just a part of the little cradle's meltdown."

Anya: "What? Wait, I get it. It's -you- again."

???: "I will destroy Austin, TX."
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[18 Jul 2004|09:58am]

anyachan
Kieri-tsa: "This plant is called 'angel's trumpet.' Would you like to grow your own angel's trumpet?"

Jacob Hoff: "What? Angel strumpet?"

Kieri-tsa: "Sure, if that's what you're into. These are my seeds, which I now give to you."

Jacob Hoff: "Where did you pull those--"

Dalvia: "They taste like pepper." (coughs) "But you must not eat them. Plant them in a place where men never go, where the soil is poor. Then, when your plant is ready, you may start to eat it."

Kieri-tsa: "Yeah, eat a thousand seeds and you will gain a great power!"

Dalvia: "Don't do that, Jack. You have to start small, or you'll die."

Jacob Hoff: "Please, call me Jacob."
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[31 May 2004|12:33am]

the_lying_kind
[ mood | sleepy ]

I walked into a small internet room full of people and looked around at the glittering virtual walls.

"So this is iconversations, is it?" I asked. "Well then. Guess I'll try it out. Here's a weird little conversation that I imagine myself having with one of the fictional characters I create." And I laid it out before them, found a seat, and sat down.

Conversation with my CharacterCollapse )

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[26 May 2004|07:07pm]

lienit
me: somedays i just chew popsicles and theyre gone in five minutes, and somedays i suck on them and the flavour melts in my mouth and lasts for 15 minutes at the least. which do you think is better?
him: i think the reason you do it, is because each day you want something different, so each one is better on the day that you do them.
me: i would never be in the mood to chew you and be finished you in five minutes.
him: and fifteen minutes is nowhere near enough time to have your flavour melt in my mouth. so i guess you and i are nothing like popsicles.
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[26 May 2004|03:05am]

mmia
"You became a psycho. That's what you became."
"So you don't want to..."
"No, I don't want to..." She relents a bit and then relaxes.
"All day running up the numbers, running out the sequences of such beautiful tunes. I used to be able to speak to you. You know, actually speak to you." Trembling with sympathy, she barely cries, "We used to have love to adore, now the only thing between our never-to-be is you going out that door".
***
He turns away discreetly, and carelessly on his way to whatever is best for him.
"So you don't care, do you?"
"No, why should I?"
"Is there anything *in* your head? I mean--is there any conscience; do you ever consider something in between the rests in the notes, and the calculations that beset your mind on a warp?"
"You warp my mind-- I..."
"You once said you loved me too much to hurt me. Were those just words?"
"No, I don't know what I said, or what I thought I said." He goes.
She speaks to the air, "So there lies my love and my anguish toiled over the same blade, the same shield which so quickly the forgets the hand of tenderness that led him hence. So far I labor to represent myself to be the best. All of my reputation gone in an hour to be quitted with nothing and nothing to how I had love for it."
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The DisGuyz Chronicles part II [17 May 2004|01:07pm]

dis_guyz
DisGuyz- *walking along the hacienda rooftops, occasionally hopping over to the next roof or stopping to listen to the birds* It is ver pretty here. I don't know if I'd necessarily want to stay here, though. The birds here do not sing about very happy things. Then again, maybe it's just the language barrier. *Lazily falls off side of roof, catching the edge with his toes and ending up looking though the hacienda's open window upside-down* Hola, senorita.
Senorita- *with a start* Hola, senor. Necesita usted ayuda?
DisGuyz- No, thank you. I am quite alright. I smelled a wonderful aroma emanating from your lovely little cocina. By the way, my name is DisGuyz.
Senorita- *smiles* I am very much pleased to meet you, Senor DisGuyz. Mi nombre es Isabella. I am cooking some flautas and taquitos for my hermanitos.
DisGuyz- Ahh, Isabella. What a beautiful name. I was wondering if there was anything I could help you with, anything at all, in exchange for some lunch and pleasant conversation?
Isabella- *blushes* Well, we were starting to dig a well in the backyard, but the ground has gotten very hard, and...well,...we...
DisGuyz- *interrupts* Of course, I'll go on back and take a look-see. *Flips over, landing on his feet, and saunters around back*
Isabella- *runs out back door* Oh, sir, you might want this *hands DisGuyz a shovel*
DisGuyz- *takes shovel* Isabella? No more of that sir/senor stuff. I'm just an amigo. Call me DisGuyz, please?
Isabella- *blushes again* Of course...DisGuyz. I must get back to the food. *runs back inside*
DisGuyz- *looks down into the 2 feet already dug out* Hmmm...I can hear water about 14 feet down...eh, shouldn't take too long *he hurls the shovel straight down into the hole, and it cuts throught the dirt like butter, going in until the handle is almost completely under the earth*.
Isabella- *watching from a shuttered window* Oh my goodness!
DisGuyz- *pulls the shovel out and repeats the process a dozen times* Alright, time to actually get to work. *Begins to shovel incredibly fast, tossing the dirt into a neat pile nearby. In a short time, DisGuyz is standing in a 15 foot hole. He looks up, gauges the distance, and kicks down hard. The kick both punches through to the water and pushes DisGuyz up and out of the hole. He lands neatly and brushes the dirt off his clothes*
Isabella- *standing there in awe* Lunch is ready sen...I mean, DisGuyz.
DisGuyz- Mucho gracias. The well is all done, so looks like we've almost finished our bargain. Now you must grace me with your presense and conversation at the table.
Isabella- *blushes furiously again and beckons him inside*

*As the door closes, a figure in the shadows across the street smiles a menacing grin sparkling with gold and creeps away*

To be continued...
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