A Day in the Life

by Yip

A Germs En A Tit Nau Pro

Truly the underlying nature of a morning did not so much relieve a unicorn from his or her natural slumber as a dragon would hoard gems or as a manticore would attack people, that is to say it does not always do so but it could be the result therein of that action, but were such a creature or even a pegasus, earth pony or really any other species—no—yes—possibly—such were the indecisions, the contradictory no and yes being a major part, that made up Twilight Sparkle’s morn as it were; her thoughts cried yes once they were through with the contradiction and her body cried no, creating another contradiction—her body seemed to be at war with itself both without knowing and without realizing that it was beating itself into an oblivion, of which no mortal could understand—Twilight Sparkle stood up, not as an immortal being but not knowing that her aging process was rapidly coming—all she could think about was waking up no finding her way out no she was already awake and she didn’t want out of her grimy confines of which hadn’t been cleaned in ages find her way yes finding her way spiritually was judged as the best plan of action—oh dear, she was all alone, no her mind cried, it was not alone, just merely absent in physical form whereas her mind and coeur as it were still felt a sense of togetherness that she had felt ever since the physical form had died—not death—yes, it is death but not in the same sense she had been used to—more contractions, but her body did not try and fight it this time.

Thoughts streamed to the stairs—one step at a time—tumble oh dear, that’ll leave a mark—pain, such that cannot be overridden by sheer willpower, and so the throbbing continued and left the other pain at bay for mere moments of time—but in no time the throbbing was gone and the real throbbing continued; purple was an awful colour, wasn’t it; there was a brief moment of indecision but then purple was judged to be a wonderful colour that merely overstayed its welcome and had to leave Equestria prematurely—does that mean she will be gone—no—does that mean she might be gone—possibly, since the mortality of a pony varies from individual to individual and being an alicorn made no difference really; immortality was such an interesting topic, but that scaly dragon in my head deserves a wave for he truly deserves it and he even waved back, what a great thing to promise something love when it can’t give love back, but oh it was fine because there was a proper excuse for the unrequited and completely platonic love—not that there was no romantic love, but it was the wrong creature with a horn that could offer that unrequited love, truly, and its colour was as colourless as the sky is blue.

No drinking was necessary for it would just make things worse—or better—more contradictions plagued a sound mind as a weed would an unprotected garden; the neighbour’s purple garden, which had clearly had overstayed its welcome, gave no proper wards against that terrible, terrible weed—oh, such heavy burden that is the terrible weed that decided it should take over the garden with total prejudice against such creatures—the morning sun was a damper on the day, really, as it meant others would be happy on this most happy of days—but her happiness was truly above all others, because while others coped with the physical form, she dealt with the mental form that still rested in her coeur and would remain in her coeur for all time, even after the great colour of purple or possibly the great colours of orange, blue, silver, etc were all shuffled off of this coil that the overstayed purple could not bear any longer.

Cramps pain misery—so much so—unbearably so—but no longer present after a few careful steps, truly it was not something to think about for extended periods of time, but what it was not was an excuse to stop and smell the flowers that reminded her of the contradictions, and therefore the colours, and therefore the overstayed purple—what a silly notion it is to walk while thinking of nothing, what a completely nonsensical, ludicrous, absurd idea that one would even consider undertaking such an act—truly, she was crazy, or no she was the most intelligent being in this land of non-intellects and she should never regard herself as anything beneath what she truly is—a deity, albeit a deity with a longing for a colour purple that has given itself contradictions far too many times that day.

A foolish mare—that masculinity—no, she was clearly wrong, but yet she was quite possibly right—the foolish thing voiced some sort of concern or praise or other but the act of ‘leave me alone’ turned into a frown and whatever masculinity was present turned into a vapor and returned as a whimper much like a newborn filly’s would be were it to be subject to intense displeasure just as though its colour had overstayed its welcome and shuffled off into a mental form as opposed to the physical form it had grown so very accustomed to—so many comparisons—so many—comparisons to contradictions—is this how geniuses think in their spare time, well it would seem so with comparisons and contradictions and comparisons of comparisons and contradictions being processed through her mind like hamsters to a hamster wheel or the pen and the pen utilizer to the virgin paper that bled itself with words of incomprehensible intellect—how pretentious of them to believe such words would work to further them on some non-existent pedestal, quite the contrary; well, it seemed like that at first, but it turns out that they are at the top of the pedestal; how quaint; how nonsensical.

The virgin paper was far from its initial state but the ones operating the print procedure allowed certain words that wound not to excite, pleasure or amuse a particular individual of whom many contradictions and such were made that day; nevertheless, the paper held a column—what a terrible column it was—oh, what a terrible, terrible column it was to make yet another mark on all others who mimicked their profession by departing and calling them such blasphemous titles as “uneducated” and “beings of indescribable stupidity, so much so that it is unbearable to feed them their clearly superior knowledge of literature and everything associated therewith” that did less heighten themselves on a higher plateau but did do more disappoint the eager populace that so awaited the “superior”—clearly not—mayhaps inferior even to the smallest sea slugs at their silly reactions—writers to continue their works that may or may not have excited them in a community-driven effort to create works based off of something someone else has done—surely they cannot ride off of something that the general populace gave them and expect to leave while calling them terrible and get away from it.

The pain—torment—everything, and so little—subsided soon, as colour was the last thing on her mind—quickly the paper was disregarded and the paper came back, and was soon discarded and the colour came to mind, causing much grief and—goodness, the overanalyzation would one day end her for sure, but first it was hoped that the foolish individuals practicing and exercising their metaphorical literary muscles would fall to that cruel, cruel hammer which would be less so cruel and moreso beneficial for the general populace should such a tool fall on their heads; mayhaps those sad heaps that, as a chain link fence is to a penitentiary, acts as the corral that keeps their self-indulgent, undoubtable minds at bay so as to prevent their own corrupting weeds from infecting the masses of gardens that lay possibly untouched and possibly already or nearly or even so closely that they are aware of it as plagued.

Speech was done; paper was completed; the only idle thought that could still plague my—my, we, her, his, it is a mystery truly who could be analyzing us at any given moment, so long as it doesn’t involve the self-indulgences currently manning the corral of which should not keep them very long—could be attributed to a great many things, but flying no magic no what could it be that plagued her mind, she did not know—truly, the only remedy for such a thing was what she had been doing every time she saw that bright ball of thing—mystical, no, scientifical, maybe—and indescribable mass that saluted her just as the uncorrupted garden had done so oft and now lay as a mental thought and form instead of the physical form she had gotten so used to.

Such, such were the days where the overarching thought process of a particular garden did not need to rely on the thought processes of other gardens—corrupted or no did not make a difference—wait, it most certainly did—hark, this endless contradiction with herself—himself—it caused even more harm than whatever good—what good, she truly wondered, what good, honestly—it could give to her slightly uncorrupted garden that had been untouched when another such garden had been in a similar state—had her mind drifted and thought of such things in the yesteryear, she wondered, but to no avail as those thoughts fluctuated far too oft to even be considered for a few moments at the bare minimum—sleep was impossible, and the floating mass of thing was nearly done its thought process, if it had a thought process, but is inaccessible, incorruptible and undecipherable to anyone who had the ought power to do so, but was there any purpose in doing such a thing, the purple—purple was not a good colour, she judged—decided.

The day in her life had been that much less purple since it had been several days before, and her physical form remained the same—gardens were an afterthought, or at least they should have been before both colour and gardens were considered dull and removed from everyday life.

Author's Note:

Analyze this, I dare you.

Inspired by my sick, sick mind, many facets of society I find troubling and James Joyce's Ulysses. The last part should trouble you more than anything.

Comments

[Skeeter The Lurker]

Holy HELL is that a jumble of words...

As for your analyze dare... I'll pass.

I'd like to keep what little sanity I have left...

~Skeeter The Lurker

[cooopercrisp]

My face when reading this:

But I still enjoyed it. Keep up the good work.

[vinilscratchedmynose]

...no...
gyazo.com/dd6979f007c1087c158c917050a3403a.gif

[zeusdemigod131]

I...Nope not even gonna try! That was just, I mean, To much brain power! Can't focus, mind going dark.

[Yip]

3535054>>3535057>>3535059 You guys should read James Joyce.

[LuminoZero]

3535072

There is an ancient earth saying that I feel applies here. 'Know your audience'. Just because it is written in the style of the greats, does not make it great in and of itself. I found myself growing bored of it quickly, and even trying to analyze it for a brief period of time I ran into a rather troubling problem.

I just didn't care. I'm not in an English class. I don't have a paper due on this. I choose to read stories here based on enjoyment.

I am quite sure you knew all of this, and likely don't care a bit about my comment. But I do question the point of making a story that you know most people are not going to even give a second thought to.

-Lumino

[vinilscratchedmynose]

3535099

[Yip]

3535099 What you choose to read is what you choose to read, and it has absolutely no bearing on what I want to write, which is precisely why I made this--I was fine with that part, but you calling me out on trying to be one of the greats is an assholish move on your part and I had no such notion in mind while writing.

I made it because I had a few points about society I was bothered with, and I wanted to mask them under a guise that did such a thing and itched my curiosity for Joyce's writing.

I do care about your comment. I care because it was an asshole move and I want to speak out against it.

[LuminoZero]

3535129

And mask them you did. But your mask was so thick that your audience did not grasp the message you were trying to portray. I'm not saying you should reduce the quality of your work to cater to fans, but there is a medium that must be reached.

If your readers cannot understand your story, then any lesson you intend to convey is worthless.

-Lumino

[Yip]

3535152 This wasn't an attempt to entertain an audience. I already made that point--if some choose to read it, then fine. It's out there in case anyone feels the need to give it a try and either relate to the masked themes or just laugh at the mess of words I created.

I'm perfectly aware of how this medium works, thanks. I don't need someone to try and baby me into thinking I have no idea what I'm talking about.

[laser68]

this was impressive. too impressive. i tried to read it. i failed

[Whiteeyes]

This is very pretentious nonsense. It sounds like its saying something, but it's very basic ideas presented as grand ideas. Heck, the entire first paragraph can be summed up as "Twilight was slow getting up that morning." Purple prose does not a great writer make.

[Yip]

3535219 Oh, 100% You are completely correct in saying that (not being sarcastic, I mean it).

[Yip]

3535204 Oh my goodness, that just made my day. How you said that made me laugh on the floor for at least five minutes.

[Drawdex]

3535165

I found it interesting. I mean there were various styles in there. It was basically Twilight having that morning sickness that is comparable as to a person when high. Having her person constantly contradict everything she thought as she:

Woke up, went down the stairs, almost trips, gets morning coffe( I think), thinks more, leaves the house, grabs the newspaper, goes back inside, and thinks some more and the story ends.

But yeah, I was fasinated by the style, I see so little of the contradiction style, especially in the case of contradicting the gender. I did found interesting the fast response system, I mean every time she thought of something it was corrected, or rejected, or accepted in a flash using (--) as an interlude of speed.

This is a writing because you like writing, because if it was to convery the morning sickness in a simple 1k+ chapter I am scared to think what it is to become if it's continued.

But yeah, I liked it, and some points I remained in confusion, not that they confused me, but they had me thinking. Could that be me in the morning?

Nice stylisation.

[Yip]

3535251 Thanks. It's completely interpretation and what it meant to me certainly would mean something different to you, and you were one of the few this was offered to like I said in that comment you replied to; honestly? This was me having Twilight in a daze and having mixed emotions--anger, sadness, etc--over the death of Spike.

Yeah, it's nonsense. But it's thematic nonsense, and I'm glad you enjoyed it.

[Drawdex]

3535264

It's completely interpretation and what it meant to me certainly would mean something different to you

I tested that theory with a re-read, and guess what? My after interpretation of the chapter could consider itself to be Twilight's loathing for the color purple, or Twilight hating the depression caused by Spike's demise, or Twilight not longer feeling secure enough to live and is now and a stage of self-hatred. Many things could be changed depending on the things known before hand and the things considered when read by an especific reader.

Some could find it funny, others depressing and others intriguing. And so little it's showed about it. The story passes more time contradicting and accepting the thoughts of Twilight that it does establishing themselves in anything outside of the basics they are attempted to be passed through by. Making everything based on interpretation of reading.

Hear me here rambling, basically. I see what you mean, and I like what I see.

[Dartrunner]

I feel like someone could do a really good dramatic reading of this quite easily. I may have to do that if you would allow it.

Also:
denver.mylittlefacewhen.com/media/f/img/mlfw299_1298776425927.jpg

[DraconequusMaximus]

so drawn out in phrasing... i read it in Mo Jo Jo Jo's voice lol

[Lag Incarnate]

Here's what I got:

Twilight doesn't want to wake up but gets out of bed anyway, notices that Spike is some kind of missing (apparently for a while now), falls down (stairs maybe), goes outside, notices a weed and leaves it alone, gets a quick cramp and picks up the paper, notices the sun and weed again before heading back inside, and is feeling a negative emotion.

Also purple, probably caused by that "terrible weed" amirite?

[I_S]

Honestly i feel like the tragedy of immortality is kinda overdone. But Twilight deciding that pretentious purple prose about such things is pretentious is kinda interesting, i guess.

[Idylia]

3535152

Woah.
WowowowOWowahwOWOwoah

Dude.
"If your readers cannot understand your story, then any lesson you intend to convey is worthless," is the most grossly offensive thing I've ever seen on this site. You place yourself on a high horse, knocking Yipyapper down a peg because he dared to write something ambitious and attempted profundity, and yet you don't even look at what you are doing. Seriously. What the heck kind of person are you to say "Unless a story is a masterpiece, there's no point in being ambitious or experimental." That's... that's begging a young writer to never try and WRITE more experimental stuff, and if they don't do that they'll never GET to their masterpieces. That's AWFUL! Look, excuse me for placing myself and my tastes "above" other people, but there's enough campy bullshit on this site already, okay. If you're here for the quality campy bullshit, that's totally 100% fine, but don't knock other people who are trying to grow and do something different, even if it's not up to your qualifications.

And this isn't even a "I tried, therefore no one should criticize me" question. You're not even criticizing any of the actual words that were written. Which is...

I dunno. It's lame, man.

[SpaceCommie]

James Joyce = Automatic Downvote

To elaborate on this, incoherence does absolutely nothing to introduce profundity. You have the same impression as everyone who writes this kind of story- if you write really purply prose without proper sentence structure and style, then have "symbolism," it somehow becomes profound.

This is a really, really bad way to think about things. If you set up indecipherablility as the pinnacle of writing...eh, screw it. Good writing- good language, in fact- exists to convey ideas as clearly and (which is more important) as effectively as possible. This is neither clear nor effective.

[Idylia]

>but that scaly dragon in my head deserves a wave for he truly deserves it and he even waved back
You slip in a 'my' here, perhaps on purpose, but I don't explicitly see what you're going for trying to change the perspective so I'm assuming it's a mistake.

Well, that was sure a thing. Really, I'm not sure that it measures up to what you'd like it to be but I'm sure you know that. Still, what you should work on is not being lost in your stream of consciousness; even in Joyce that stream of consciousness touches on imagery which evokes tone which informs themes which would help the fuck out of the message you're trying to convey, because, while a sterile, calculated tone that exists sheerly inside TS's head has its own uses, to touch on despair would befit you dropping an emotional hint or two in the subtext.

I wonder if I've indirectly influenced your writing of this in showing you Alectrona which pushed you to read some Joyce perhaps? It would be a warm feeling to find that out.

It's super cool, though. Bravo for writing it.

[Yip]

3536064 You're completely correct. This is neither profound nor is it redeemable in any way--but it scratched my itch, a few people were entertained, and so the purpose of this story has been fulfilled. Reading Joyce's work just intrigued me, as it were, and that prompted this strange itch I had.

To be fair to other authors who do this well, though, profundity depends on the individual--some, myself included, love the thrill of texts such as these and take some sort of sick profundity out of it while reading.

[FanOfMostEverything]

I'm sorry, I couldn't make it past the fourth paragraph-sentence. It's actually rather similar to my own unfiltered thought process, but still different enough that the differences make it nigh-incomprehensible.

[Dartrunner]

I fell that, after reading other comments, some people are taking this, or at least trying to take this, too seriously and overreacting.
Too much "tearing a new one" for something that was for fun and seems like a bit of a joke too me. That meaning it was not written to be taken seriously.

(I am also tempted to hand this to my English teacher and see what he can make of it. )

[Yip]

3536379 Some were amused, some thought it was pretentious--I thought it was both, but meh. I'll probably make a blog post about it at some point and touch on some more details.

Feel free to hand this in to anybody; I would love to hear what they make of this thing.

[I HV NO FEAR]

I don't even know where to start, so I guess I'll just plow through it.

First section: Twilight wakes up, and ponders life in general. I think this is establishing Twi's mortality, and I infer there was an accident that has caused her brain to pull out the stops. She's over-analyzing everything, and this continues throughout the story. I think there are at least the vestiges of a split personality, with her body and mind being the main two.

Second Section: Especially in this section, Twi reads as scatterbrained. Lot's of skipping and random looking ideas, but there is a pattern here.

but in no time the throbbing was gone and the real throbbing continued;

I think this demonstrates her internal struggle, and is a great segue to the next bit. Perhaps, in her musings about purple, she plans to do something about it. Who is she to judge though? Why should she get to decide? Anyway, she connects her thoughts about purple to Spike, and thinks about their relationship. I can presume he is dead by this point because she mentioned mortality, and she said, "That scaly dragon in my head deserves a wave" She muses about his relationship with Rarity, and the paragraph ends.

Section Three: Twilight talks about weeds, and gardens. "Oh, such heavy burden that is the terrible weed that decided it should take over the garden with total prejudice against such creatures" As you said, weeds are contradictions. This whole analogy, and especially that last line, show that contradictions are taking over Twi's mind like weeds in a garden. Twi believes she has ascended into a higher state of being, and I suspect the Physical Form is like a basic survival system of thought. She thinks she has conquered her mind and now she tries to fight off her basic thought in favor of "more advanced" thinking.

Section Four: in the beginning, Twi is trying to say that your physical gripes should not get in the way of higher thought. Her brain thinks of something, and then immediately contradicts it, adding to her problem. Also, she has a serious god complex here.

Section Five: Twi muses about gender, geniuses, and authors. She especially seemed to rag on authors towards the end, believing everything they have worked for is useless and nonsensical.

Section Six: In about the first half-ish of this paragraph, Twi is musing about Equestria's, and, by extension, Earth's system of publication, and the elitist views of publishers. The second half is a bit of a jab at the mass behavior of a group, I this case, authors, who try to make a name for themselves by coat-tailing the success of others.

Section Seven: in the beginning, Twi's mind flips rapidly from her few previous thoughts, and eventually settles back on color. But, the main point of this section is more criticism of authors. She talks about their 'weeds' plaguing the gardens of the masses, and how Equestria would probably be better off in the long run if these ponies and their system just vanished. The end of the paragraph deals with her thoughts on the sun, and what exactly it is.

Section Eight: She talks of her mind, her 'garden' in the beginning here, and how she can be, and is, an independent thinker. Her thought process shifts and varies very much in the next part of this paragraph, and some further evidence of split personality is here. Also, she comes back to the color purple, and makes a final decision. It seems here that she is awake, and has moved from her bed, but she still wants to go back to sleep.

Last Section: Well, this became dark very fast. She has taken out the color purple, which I can presume means she murdered the ponies who were purple, and has gotten rid of purple objects. She is exempt from this treatment however, which makes sense. Also, she has banned gardens.

Overall, this was an interesting story. It was very confusing, especially at first, but I couldn't back away from a challenge like this. Keep in mind that I didn't read any of the other comments, so I very well might be 'stealing' ideas from previous commenters. Also, this is my interpretation, and it's probably wrong. This was a very unique story, to say the least, but I had to read each section about 20 times to understand it. It's quite confusing. But, you accomplished the goal you were going for, so it is an effective story.

[Yip]

3536981 Thanks for the analysis, I find incredible joy springs up if someone wants to take up their time to take apart and reconstruct my story into something of their interpretation. I found many of my own thoughts echoed in your thoughts, with a few pieces that intrigued me--thank you.

[Pearple Prose]

oic

[John The Dragon]

What weed are you smoking and where can I buy some?

[Whiteeyes]

3535239 Ah, now I get it, you were being obtuse on purpose; a sort of literary litmus test as to who could cut through the purple prose to the simple ideas beneath. Cleverer than I gave you credit for.

[Waterpear]

1. Twilight falls down the stairs
2. Jab at the site's self-hatedom that sticks out like a sore thumb that just got jabbed
3. Twilight discards morality and attempts to become the overmare

[Type_Writer]

Well. This was... certainly a thing. I'm gonna go lie down for a bit.

[NobleValor]

Personally I found this a bit too confusing to read (made all the worse by the fact that every paragraph seems to be one sentence.) Nothing personal.

[Yip]

4718680 Oh, no offense taken. This is a pretentious, difficult-to-read piece and I don't take any offense to anyone who doesn't want to read it.

[NobleValor]

4719180 For what it is worth, I am fond of that story 'A Special Blankie.' I have it on my favs. (A growing list to be sure, but no less prestigious! )