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15:54
A boy was born to loving parents, they had named him Thomas before they had even seen him, to describe him only by their already pre-arranged love.
And once they did see him, they did love him, true, but surely not in the way that once did expect. For Thomas was born with his two lips sealed, where a mouth should open, there were no more than a sealed pure skin which reached from the nose to the chin.
Thomas grew quickly, and for every day that he had to inject drugs into him, and for every moment that he had to make sure he carried enough nose inhalers and tissues to prevent him from sufforcating... none of it mattered. Not even talking. The beauty of speech which he listened to, he knew he was born to forget about. Words that meant nothing, in the end. Simple knee jerk statements that fired eachother off.
Nobody really knew why they talked. Except Thomas, and that was a pain, because he couldn't tell them.
And for once, Thomas did fall in love. A beautiful woman named Christine that bothered him only for what she saw in him, and she spoke to him softly, and he could reply, and she could understand. They lived quitely in a small house in the middle of a long tripped woods, making love occasionally and going to Church on Sundays. And they eventually became married.
For the longest of times, Thomas was invincable. Christine listened to what he could say with no mouth, her eyes tingling as he told her of how much he loved her, and how much she meant to him, and she replied sweetly only by how he would expect, and from the heart.
And came the day when Christine fell ill, and before Thomas could find the heart to speak, she died of cancer in her sleep, with passionless eyes and skin which had accepted it's fate.
And for all the worlds that could be apart from his mind, and all the words that he had once heard, for all the dreams and tales that the two did share, not once could he reply to those that questioned their relationship. "What did she see in him anyway? It's not as if he had a lot of money..."
But they wouldn't listen to him. He shouted and screamed at them, but his language was so unknown to them, their words that only described their pitiful reactions to more and more words. Words are nothing.
And at the funeral, he did write to the priest, and he asked him if for once, he could stand at the front of the funeral, in front of them all, and if he could speak to them.
The priest, a man of God, agreed. Deep down, he didn't really know why he wished he needed to, but love drives a man to such oddities, so it was best to leave him be.
And Thomas did stand before the friends and family of the deceased. He simply stood there, and looked with gazing eyes out at the people who sat there watching them, all with tears and questioning glances. And for every eye that stared out at him, he spoke straight into their minds, he told them of his love, he told them of his compassion.
And then they heard him. For not a word was spoken, but as Thomas stood so very tall at the side of his wife, everyone finally listened, because now, at last, they had finally found the time.
Thomas wanted to smile, but he could not. He wanted to kiss his wife goodbye, but he couldn't. He simply turned his glance away from the friends and family, and looked upon her for the last time, and told her how much he loved her.
And the room smiled as one, for they finally knew. The silent boy that they had watch grown, the silent boy that they had finally realised knew more than they could possibly imagine.
And Thomas sat down again, and felt the muscles across his cheekbone tense. His eyes smiled at the priest, who smiled back at him. The priest said nothing more, and allowed himself to speak Thomas's language for the rest of the service.
Family and friends that had ignored Thomas came to him, and they thanked him... but not with words, oh no. They were past that now. They had learned of true communication, the true way of speaking to eachother.
Thomas thanked them all for their compassion, and they talked of times when Christine and Thomas had first met, and how they felt when they realised how much of a fool they've been to believe that nobody could possibly love you, and how pathetic they felt... and Thomas comforted them, and told them that he couldn't expect everyone to understand, but understanding, at least even for a single second, was enough to redeem themselves in his eyes.
And they understood.
A boy was born to loving parents, they had named him Thomas before they had even seen him, to describe him only by their already pre-arranged love.
And once they did see him, they did love him, true, but surely not in the way that once did expect. For Thomas was born with his two lips sealed, where a mouth should open, there were no more than a sealed pure skin which reached from the nose to the chin.
Thomas grew quickly, and for every day that he had to inject drugs into him, and for every moment that he had to make sure he carried enough nose inhalers and tissues to prevent him from sufforcating... none of it mattered. Not even talking. The beauty of speech which he listened to, he knew he was born to forget about. Words that meant nothing, in the end. Simple knee jerk statements that fired eachother off.
Nobody really knew why they talked. Except Thomas, and that was a pain, because he couldn't tell them.
And for once, Thomas did fall in love. A beautiful woman named Christine that bothered him only for what she saw in him, and she spoke to him softly, and he could reply, and she could understand. They lived quitely in a small house in the middle of a long tripped woods, making love occasionally and going to Church on Sundays. And they eventually became married.
For the longest of times, Thomas was invincable. Christine listened to what he could say with no mouth, her eyes tingling as he told her of how much he loved her, and how much she meant to him, and she replied sweetly only by how he would expect, and from the heart.
And came the day when Christine fell ill, and before Thomas could find the heart to speak, she died of cancer in her sleep, with passionless eyes and skin which had accepted it's fate.
And for all the worlds that could be apart from his mind, and all the words that he had once heard, for all the dreams and tales that the two did share, not once could he reply to those that questioned their relationship. "What did she see in him anyway? It's not as if he had a lot of money..."
But they wouldn't listen to him. He shouted and screamed at them, but his language was so unknown to them, their words that only described their pitiful reactions to more and more words. Words are nothing.
And at the funeral, he did write to the priest, and he asked him if for once, he could stand at the front of the funeral, in front of them all, and if he could speak to them.
The priest, a man of God, agreed. Deep down, he didn't really know why he wished he needed to, but love drives a man to such oddities, so it was best to leave him be.
And Thomas did stand before the friends and family of the deceased. He simply stood there, and looked with gazing eyes out at the people who sat there watching them, all with tears and questioning glances. And for every eye that stared out at him, he spoke straight into their minds, he told them of his love, he told them of his compassion.
And then they heard him. For not a word was spoken, but as Thomas stood so very tall at the side of his wife, everyone finally listened, because now, at last, they had finally found the time.
Thomas wanted to smile, but he could not. He wanted to kiss his wife goodbye, but he couldn't. He simply turned his glance away from the friends and family, and looked upon her for the last time, and told her how much he loved her.
And the room smiled as one, for they finally knew. The silent boy that they had watch grown, the silent boy that they had finally realised knew more than they could possibly imagine.
And Thomas sat down again, and felt the muscles across his cheekbone tense. His eyes smiled at the priest, who smiled back at him. The priest said nothing more, and allowed himself to speak Thomas's language for the rest of the service.
Family and friends that had ignored Thomas came to him, and they thanked him... but not with words, oh no. They were past that now. They had learned of true communication, the true way of speaking to eachother.
Thomas thanked them all for their compassion, and they talked of times when Christine and Thomas had first met, and how they felt when they realised how much of a fool they've been to believe that nobody could possibly love you, and how pathetic they felt... and Thomas comforted them, and told them that he couldn't expect everyone to understand, but understanding, at least even for a single second, was enough to redeem themselves in his eyes.
And they understood.
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I could be completely wrong here, but could it be more psychological than physical? This speech thing I mean.
Ok, so you have problems swallowing, fair. You don't like the sound of your own voice, fair.
Could it be that these two things added together with the fact that you're shy (well, you seem to be, I could be wrong of course) adds up to you just not having the confidence to speak how you want to?
I could be wrong with all of this, it's a bit of a shot in the dark...
Ok, so you have problems swallowing, fair. You don't like the sound of your own voice, fair.
Could it be that these two things added together with the fact that you're shy (well, you seem to be, I could be wrong of course) adds up to you just not having the confidence to speak how you want to?
I could be wrong with all of this, it's a bit of a shot in the dark...
Heh, thanks. :0D
Just reading some more about my speech problem. Apparently, it can also be caused by brain infections, specifically melingitious.
And guess what I had? This is pretty scary, but damn near impossible. There are so many different types of speech and swallowing defects, that it's hard to pin-point exactly what my problem is, and how I can fix it. Or at least try to fix it.
Just reading some more about my speech problem. Apparently, it can also be caused by brain infections, specifically melingitious.
And guess what I had? This is pretty scary, but damn near impossible. There are so many different types of speech and swallowing defects, that it's hard to pin-point exactly what my problem is, and how I can fix it. Or at least try to fix it.
"But it seems so many people have trouble reading them."
Perhaps that's my problem then.
Anyway, I can't believe I didn't say it in my last post, that was really good Grix. It's always a joy to read a post like this from you.
Perhaps that's my problem then.
Anyway, I can't believe I didn't say it in my last post, that was really good Grix. It's always a joy to read a post like this from you.
It's not just what eyes look like, or what colour they are... but what they do. I mean, you can obviously tell from watching my eyes that I have some sort of problem with eye contact. You could see that I'm thinking about something, or miles away, dreaming.
You can see that I'm in love, you can see that I'm unhappy, or have been unhappy and I've been crying.
You can tell that I've just been shocked, or I'm scared. You can tell I'm excited, you can tell that I'm depressed or suicidal. Yeah, you can, really. Eyes that seem empty, no real focus on anything.
But it seems so many people have trouble reading them.
You can see that I'm in love, you can see that I'm unhappy, or have been unhappy and I've been crying.
You can tell that I've just been shocked, or I'm scared. You can tell I'm excited, you can tell that I'm depressed or suicidal. Yeah, you can, really. Eyes that seem empty, no real focus on anything.
But it seems so many people have trouble reading them.
I was reading this as that song from the end of Gladiator came of the radio. You know, the one where the the gladiator dies.
It seemed to fit perfectly.
As for the eyes thing, I don't think you can a lot about people from their eyes. But that's just my personal opinion...
It seemed to fit perfectly.
As for the eyes thing, I don't think you can a lot about people from their eyes. But that's just my personal opinion...
Grix Thraves wrote:
> Perhaps I should go to a doctor,
I agree, it sounds as if you have a problem (no offence)
> Perhaps I should go to a doctor,
I agree, it sounds as if you have a problem (no offence)
Christ, I've had another little flashback thing.
My English teacher from my second school, primary, or whatever the name of the thing is, suggested to my parents for me to get my speech checked out, because there were certain noises I couldn't make. I can't make the Rrrrr sound, and a few more that I can't remember at the moment because I don't notice myself.
My parents said no, there's nothing wrong. Now I'm looking up stuff, and speech problems come hand in hand with eating problems, problems that I've always had. It's not that I'm as skinny as anything, it's just I can't chew, or swallow properly... or quickly, anyway. Things get stuck, and I have to keep drinking all the time I eat.
Perhaps I should go to a doctor, just to see what they say. If I can find an excuse for me being a crap speaker, it'll give me a better chance for this job.
My English teacher from my second school, primary, or whatever the name of the thing is, suggested to my parents for me to get my speech checked out, because there were certain noises I couldn't make. I can't make the Rrrrr sound, and a few more that I can't remember at the moment because I don't notice myself.
My parents said no, there's nothing wrong. Now I'm looking up stuff, and speech problems come hand in hand with eating problems, problems that I've always had. It's not that I'm as skinny as anything, it's just I can't chew, or swallow properly... or quickly, anyway. Things get stuck, and I have to keep drinking all the time I eat.
Perhaps I should go to a doctor, just to see what they say. If I can find an excuse for me being a crap speaker, it'll give me a better chance for this job.
Grix Thraves wrote:
>You can tell a lot about someone's
> eyes.
That is totally true.
>You can tell a lot about someone's
> eyes.
That is totally true.
Grix Thraves wrote:
> Short paragraphs, s**tart them with And. It's not difficult, really. :0)
Damn! That was my secret technique too :-)
Oops... I used an exclamation mark. I think they're alright after exclamations like damn! bagger! and sh*t! but you should never ever use them at the end of sentences! Because it jus**t looks silly!
Finding words to say is difficult. I find that the voice in my head is different from my normal voice, which often sounds foreign if I've been living inside my head for too long. I was picked up on though by the headmas**ter at my firs**t school, who put me and some of the other problem speakers into a debating activity that he ran himself. He's now living in squallor in Ireland after using my old school as collateral agains**t dodgy business deals that fell through, but that's beside the point. He helped me learn to say the things that came into my mind in ordered jumbles.
I find that it often doesn't matter what you say as long as you vary the tone of your voice when you say it. A person could write the world's greates**t speech ever and give it to George Bush to read and it'd sound average because Bush is a bad public speaker. Whereas Bill Clinton could say jus**t about anything and sound impressive because he was a speaker of the highes**t calibre. And that's all there is to it really. Debating's about a few pithy one-liners. throwaway soundbites and an extended metaphor, not much else. But it helps because you gradually learn how to ad lib a speech in front of lots of people, and you get less bothered about how you sound and if you muck up. Mos**t people make mis**takes when talking that you won't notice unless they get bothered about the mis**take or try to correct it.
It's all a matter of confidence in speaking.
(But then that much was probably pretty obvious)
> Short paragraphs, s**tart them with And. It's not difficult, really. :0)
Damn! That was my secret technique too :-)
Oops... I used an exclamation mark. I think they're alright after exclamations like damn! bagger! and sh*t! but you should never ever use them at the end of sentences! Because it jus**t looks silly!
Finding words to say is difficult. I find that the voice in my head is different from my normal voice, which often sounds foreign if I've been living inside my head for too long. I was picked up on though by the headmas**ter at my firs**t school, who put me and some of the other problem speakers into a debating activity that he ran himself. He's now living in squallor in Ireland after using my old school as collateral agains**t dodgy business deals that fell through, but that's beside the point. He helped me learn to say the things that came into my mind in ordered jumbles.
I find that it often doesn't matter what you say as long as you vary the tone of your voice when you say it. A person could write the world's greates**t speech ever and give it to George Bush to read and it'd sound average because Bush is a bad public speaker. Whereas Bill Clinton could say jus**t about anything and sound impressive because he was a speaker of the highes**t calibre. And that's all there is to it really. Debating's about a few pithy one-liners. throwaway soundbites and an extended metaphor, not much else. But it helps because you gradually learn how to ad lib a speech in front of lots of people, and you get less bothered about how you sound and if you muck up. Mos**t people make mis**takes when talking that you won't notice unless they get bothered about the mis**take or try to correct it.
It's all a matter of confidence in speaking.
(But then that much was probably pretty obvious)
Eyes are the backbone of the soul. You can tell a lot about someone's eyes.
I'm afraid of people seeing my eyes. I don't want them to see mine, and I'm frightened of the eyes of others.
Sometimes I stare as long as I can into eyes, but it always ends with me rushing them away, closing them for a second or two. Of all the confidence I may gather, it doesn't help me a lot.
But I just can't cope with it. They're piercing, they can reach down into anybody's mind, and I also feel so weak whenever they're on me, it doesn't matter if I'm looking at them or not, but if they look at me, I feel as if I need to crawl into a ball.
So I end up looking at my watch, or scratching my hands, looking at the floor, anything. People try to read me, and they fail. They always fail. The day I can meet somebody who can read me, and speak my language, is most likely the day I fall in love.
I'm afraid of people seeing my eyes. I don't want them to see mine, and I'm frightened of the eyes of others.
Sometimes I stare as long as I can into eyes, but it always ends with me rushing them away, closing them for a second or two. Of all the confidence I may gather, it doesn't help me a lot.
But I just can't cope with it. They're piercing, they can reach down into anybody's mind, and I also feel so weak whenever they're on me, it doesn't matter if I'm looking at them or not, but if they look at me, I feel as if I need to crawl into a ball.
So I end up looking at my watch, or scratching my hands, looking at the floor, anything. People try to read me, and they fail. They always fail. The day I can meet somebody who can read me, and speak my language, is most likely the day I fall in love.
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