Conceited
Let's compile this into something that is tangible, because what you just wrote on the other forum couldn't be described as anything other than a loss of control, and in the eyes of this community, on this platform, such a loss of control could, would and never can be tolerated because you want to fit into the literate elite that sit on their pedestals here, on this website, with their well craft and built projects, corporations and organizations because you would, in your pursuits, to burn all of that work to the ground because then, and only then, could you ever be freed of your own limitations and that is why you have named this piece, this work of fiction that has nothing to do with this character and consequentially why you've dubbed it as 'non-canon' as several adjectives that essentially describe what you want: to be freed.
And that is why you have become fascinated with the Sith code. This arbitrary, brutish, made up puzzle of worlds that essentially describe the steps necessary for one, who accept their inhibitions, faults and emotions- what they feel- towards that freedom. One moment, let me put on the heating. There, the heating is on, but the old man will come in and tell that it's Spring, not realizing that there is either something wrong with you or something wrong with him, because you know it's cold- you can feel it because the tips of your fingers feel frostbitten, which makes it difficult to type- and your toes hurt because of the cold.
So you choose this character to describe something intangible because she is everything you want to be. She is powerful, gifted, beautiful, conceited, intelligent and is burdened with glorious purpose that she is set to bring into fruition, if not for you. You gain fleeting moments of energy, every now and then, that you used for this one character that you wished you could be because you know you don't have the energy, resolve or motivation to change yourself in the real world, so you hide here, on this platform for a time, away from a community that despises you because they've seen the real you and what you're capable of, but this one doesn't, not yet and hopefully it never will.
Blood. I've never been scared of it. I've cut my knee open once and I knew at one point in my life, my left arm was cut open by something so sharp that it required stitches, leaving quite the scar. Tributes to a seminal life experienced before transformative events- hey that isn't a real world but go with it, you have to, you're on a roll- that irrevocably changed you for the rest of time. You tried to hide away from the transformation, ignoring parts of you that you wished you hadn't now in your adulthood. You wished that you had accepted what you were, instead of trying to seek and find answers to questions that you asked, but not the right questions. Face it. You were born in the wrong body. Somewhere along the line, apart of your brain was either triggered by an event that you cannot even remember or the biological process that led to your creation, existence and corporal presence in this fabric of reality was defective. I need to turn the heating off now.
It's been- no, I need to count- wow, seven months since your facade was broken by your responsibilities. You don't need to go into the reasons why, but it led you to confront the truth and the piece of paper, the forms to your absolution and freedom, have been left beneath the mattress of a bed that you've been sleeping in for twenty plus years, because the old man is cheap. And what have you done about it? Nothing. You've left it there for, say, six weeks (that's an educated guess, I don't actually know), leaving it to be either eventually found by him or to be thrown away because that's the safe play.
Safety. It's all you've actually really wanted, isn't it? You were born as a person that was supposed to lead. On the pitch, you know, when you could actually play, you led your teams and didn't respond well to those who tried to lead you. And now? All you want to do is collapse into the arms of someone who will look after you, lead you away from this miserable existence and into paradise, into a life where all you'll do is service them to yours and their satisfaction. But you the path to this is blocked by the fact that you are not you. You don't look the way you should. You have parts of you that you shouldn't have. You've covered in scars, acne and hair that you don't want. And you don't have the means to transform yourself, yet again, because you don't have the money, the motivation, resolve or energy to do it.
So you write this character and you plot, scheme changes that you wish you could impose on the real world. You know, that glorious burden that one Human being has to take in a world of seven billion voices, minds and bodies that do not wish to carry out the means towards civilizations ascension from this decadence and despair. Which rounds us back to the Sith code, blood and absolution. To be freed of your sins. Transform yourself.
I've run out of answers. Laziness has kicked in. Going to do something else. I'll probably fry those mushrooms, onions and feed my gluttonous, disgusting gut because at, the very least, food tastes good and I want to feel good.
And that is why you have become fascinated with the Sith code. This arbitrary, brutish, made up puzzle of worlds that essentially describe the steps necessary for one, who accept their inhibitions, faults and emotions- what they feel- towards that freedom. One moment, let me put on the heating. There, the heating is on, but the old man will come in and tell that it's Spring, not realizing that there is either something wrong with you or something wrong with him, because you know it's cold- you can feel it because the tips of your fingers feel frostbitten, which makes it difficult to type- and your toes hurt because of the cold.
So you choose this character to describe something intangible because she is everything you want to be. She is powerful, gifted, beautiful, conceited, intelligent and is burdened with glorious purpose that she is set to bring into fruition, if not for you. You gain fleeting moments of energy, every now and then, that you used for this one character that you wished you could be because you know you don't have the energy, resolve or motivation to change yourself in the real world, so you hide here, on this platform for a time, away from a community that despises you because they've seen the real you and what you're capable of, but this one doesn't, not yet and hopefully it never will.
Blood. I've never been scared of it. I've cut my knee open once and I knew at one point in my life, my left arm was cut open by something so sharp that it required stitches, leaving quite the scar. Tributes to a seminal life experienced before transformative events- hey that isn't a real world but go with it, you have to, you're on a roll- that irrevocably changed you for the rest of time. You tried to hide away from the transformation, ignoring parts of you that you wished you hadn't now in your adulthood. You wished that you had accepted what you were, instead of trying to seek and find answers to questions that you asked, but not the right questions. Face it. You were born in the wrong body. Somewhere along the line, apart of your brain was either triggered by an event that you cannot even remember or the biological process that led to your creation, existence and corporal presence in this fabric of reality was defective. I need to turn the heating off now.
It's been- no, I need to count- wow, seven months since your facade was broken by your responsibilities. You don't need to go into the reasons why, but it led you to confront the truth and the piece of paper, the forms to your absolution and freedom, have been left beneath the mattress of a bed that you've been sleeping in for twenty plus years, because the old man is cheap. And what have you done about it? Nothing. You've left it there for, say, six weeks (that's an educated guess, I don't actually know), leaving it to be either eventually found by him or to be thrown away because that's the safe play.
Safety. It's all you've actually really wanted, isn't it? You were born as a person that was supposed to lead. On the pitch, you know, when you could actually play, you led your teams and didn't respond well to those who tried to lead you. And now? All you want to do is collapse into the arms of someone who will look after you, lead you away from this miserable existence and into paradise, into a life where all you'll do is service them to yours and their satisfaction. But you the path to this is blocked by the fact that you are not you. You don't look the way you should. You have parts of you that you shouldn't have. You've covered in scars, acne and hair that you don't want. And you don't have the means to transform yourself, yet again, because you don't have the money, the motivation, resolve or energy to do it.
So you write this character and you plot, scheme changes that you wish you could impose on the real world. You know, that glorious burden that one Human being has to take in a world of seven billion voices, minds and bodies that do not wish to carry out the means towards civilizations ascension from this decadence and despair. Which rounds us back to the Sith code, blood and absolution. To be freed of your sins. Transform yourself.
I've run out of answers. Laziness has kicked in. Going to do something else. I'll probably fry those mushrooms, onions and feed my gluttonous, disgusting gut because at, the very least, food tastes good and I want to feel good.