Whisper Hunter

Yes we are all, yes we are all mad here.

[haroldswhatever]

I just published “On the journey, we may fall” of my story “Pen Stories”. http://my.w.tt/UiNb/Wo3pWRfP6u

[whisperhunter]

Enjoy. Sorry for my absence.

[whisperhunter]

how bout that?

[whisperhunter]

The empty bags on the floor

05 May 2016

 The cat is considered one of the most comfortable pets for a small house, especially for owners that luck in free time, too. And that's cause cats are independent animals, unlike dogs or even humans. Since they're little, they learn how to use their sand, they eat without begging for it, they don't need a walk and do form a unique personality, whereas dogs are loyal reflections of their owners.

The cat's paws indicated his location, in every step he took. Crunch, crunch, crunch. He would examine the smell of the empty leftover bags, like he could solve the mystery, just by his smell. His long and white whiskers would follow his spasmodic dance moves, adding even more comeliness to his motion. Most of us would say that this animal must have been impassible; continuing his day like nothing has changed. But if you could, for a moment remove your jacket of common sense, you could then see that cat as an explorer, a detective, or even the culpable himself, who is schizophrenically examining his masterpiece.

Everything in that small and only room of the apartment stayed completely the same unfaltering as they were. The furniture, the glasses of water, the books, the images. Lifeless, as they should be, quiet, as they should sound. Just a cigarettes adding an extra movement in space, except the cat's one. Lighted, as it was, forgotten in the ashtray, smoking on its own. The smoke would climb upwards slowly, swirling and then disappearing before reaching the sealing. It was about time, it would finish, too.

The time was four sharp and the water on the carpet was now dry. The only thing left in liquid form, was the blood pond in the center of the room. The wheels of the inverted desk chair had stopped turning and the body was now already cold. Hours had passed, days and whole nights, till someone finally looked for her. Once they found her, the bodies had multiplied.

The one being the writer and the other being the cat.

The last stroke on the typewriter wrote, "Farewell."

Find all of the books chapter on Wattpad :

https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/70782951-pen-stories

See you both soon!

[whisperhunter]

Just found this GIF and I’m in love with it!

So many ideas coming in my head right now! 

[whisperhunter]

Lianne La Havas - Lost & Found (Matthew Herbert Remix)

kasetophono.com

I really like playlists from Kasetophono, check it out if you’re bored of looking for playlists on YouTUbe. You can choose your own, based on your mood or how’s-your-day like or even leave it to chance...

Enjoy!

[whisperhunter]

Rough day . . .

  Okay then, so here’s the new chapter of my new book “Pen Stories”. New chapter every once in a while, when I’m hopefully “cheerful”, which happens hmmm.. let me think... just split seconds.

~Why, dont you?

05 May 2016

 Three hours had paused, since I finally managed to wake up. Tea was over and my left overs at the bottom of the plate, now wanted to know if I'm full. I would spasmodically stare, once at my wall clock and once at my cell phone, afraid I've missed a call. But nothing changed. So after a while, I decided to forget about him and take that walk all by myself. Either way I always enjoyed loneliness unlikely how other people would. I stared at my closet for a while, taking my time deciding what would be more suitable for that instance. Every moment is special, although most of us seen to have forgot about it.

I don't recall how long it took me to get ready, but in a bling of an eye, I found myself already in the elevator. I took a look at the girl in the mirror and after correcting her lipstick, I closed the door behind me exited for what was yet to come.

To my surprise, he was already there waiting for me, smoking his cigarette patiently and slowly, like he had just arrived, like he was watching me in a way. Surprised as I was, I managed to keep my mouth shut, as I took his smoke taking one zip before throwing it away. He moved on and grabbed me from the waist, pressing me against him, lifting me dress up as he did so. His kiss was so deep and passionate, that he only stopped once the air in our lungs was over and then he pulled me away still holding my face between his lovely arms. I could feel like I belonged to him, like I was in a way special, without the rest of the world knowing.

The hours would pass by, as the city ended up empty, and the sky turned dark. It was time for us to rest our feet and feed our stomachs. We returned to my place where I cooked some pasta, while he would fill our glasses with wine. The atmosphere was filled with kisses, laughter until... Kissing because a game for the tongues only and laughter turned into deep moans.

Just before I fall asleep I whispered to his ear that I would like to spend the rest of my life like this. He looked deeply into my eyes and kissed me hard while a tear run down to his cheek. "Why, don't you?" I asked clearly disappointed.

"Cause darling, I don't exist, I'm not real."

The candles run out and he was gone again.

"See you again tomorrow" I whispered to sleep.

My book can be found here on Wattpad :

https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/70782951-pen-stories

~~~~

https://youtu.be/U55fEPecQxY?list=PLSRDGXudTSm8fjOgzlwA9kOCXrx2cAVFD

Here’s a nice playlist also... Enough for that... See you lovely pair of eyes... 

[whisperhunter]

Loosing your text, is like loosing your fingerprints... You ain't gonna find another one not even similar to it. Everything you write is unique.

Amersa

[whisperhunter]

Win you back

#Loversthatwentwrong | May 03, 2016

(This is the second time I re-write this one cause the first time... well something went wrong and I lost all of it.... Thanks Karma.)

What does that even mean? “I’ll win you back” ??? How can you possibly win someone back when you have already lost him/her. Point is if you really cared for them you should’ve never let them go. Right from the start.

  I’ve spend most of my life caring a lot more for others than I did for my own self. By saying that I don’t really mean being selfish or an asshole who doesn’t give a damn, but caring more for yourself so as to become a better version of yourself, as we say. I also came to realize, after long term relationships and both good and bad lovers, that nobody and I really mean no one (like there’s no such person yet to be born on earth), that would change for you, nor for anybody else, ever. No one else other himself. And that’s a fact, that applies to each and every one of us.

  People, we change for we see something bad or something wrong going on to ourselves, which is usually really difficult for someone to do cause we usually can detect only the errors that apply to others. Since I came to introduce myself as a singer, the most commonly question I got was “And... are you a good one?” My answer remains and I hope to remain the same for as long as I’m living. “That’s for others to tell.”

  Each and every one of us has been formed and shaped, from his own individual experiences, making him the person his is today. And for that we all differ from each other having our own and unique values and beliefs ( like I analyzed on “Choose your mask”). Therefore we judge everything around us as we have learned to see the world, through filters. And for that there is no right or wrong perspective. You can’t judge a person’s opinion you can only talk and share with everyone, keep and discard whatever you choose, as well. Also, we can’t teach anyone just by our sayings or beautifully described stories. It’s as you’re trying to explain to someone how pain actually feels, without considering that he might have ever being cut himself.

  And now that we’re talking cuts. “Wining someone back” is like chasing him as he runs away from you, throwing big stones at him filled with explanations and proofs you’ve changed yourself. Who needs proof for anything really? What I mean to say is that, since you already left that person behind, why chase now? Let them continue their lives as they did or didn’t. You left them without your presence implying they could survive without you. So do you. It’s also the other way around you see?

  Wining is like demanding a price from a war you can’t afford to conduct. Life is a game but you can only play with your own and that only.

  You’re not one in a million and you are definitely not the first nor the last to hurt or to be hurt, too. Learn to live from your mistakes, take them as lessons that make you stronger, rather than explanations and fake tales. Everything happens for a reason, and you can change anytime... The question is... Do you really want to change?

[whisperhunter]

Choose your Mask

#RealStuff | May 03, 2016

 Well people that know me in real life, also know that I like to talk things straight. I hate being lied to and I also hate fake people, like most of us do, right? So why should I keep consort with them? 

  My goal in life is number one : to evolve 

and number two : be real and unique, 

like all of us are, since we’re born.  From ever since we are little kids, we turned to each other’s lifestyle to pick stuff for our own. Haircuts, dressing style, way of talking, even expressions and body language. It’s a trick we learned from this great society we live in, that you have to be just like everyone else to fit in. Thin, stylish, rich, beautiful, antisocial, sexy etc. Most of us girls pretty much know about these things, and sometimes so do boys. 

  Now that I’ve finally reached the age of twenty, I’m starting to realise, from the people I hag out with (which are older, at least most of them ) that this thing, which I call Copy+Paste, started mostly during my generation. Before that people, mostly teenagers would choose any hairstyle they could possibly imagine and try it! They would wear color that don’t match and still be and feel unique, not different or strange.

  Lately, I’ve being working at a cosmetic store, located at the city center. It opened recently and cause of its location all kinds of ages would come in to shop. So, one day a group of three girls entered the shop, looking for black lipstick. I was the one of course to make the first step closer to them so as, to help them out. I knew we had black lipstick cause from the moment I started working there, I would continiously look through every piece we had, so as to be more helpfull and less interrogative. All of these girls, had that awesome pastel gothic look that I personally adore and admire, cause you need a lot of time to get dressed and put on all of that make up skills on your body. One of them, the girl with the white/blue hair and the cat ears headband was lookinh through the eyeliners. I helped her out picking a black one and then I asked her where she got those ears. As both the conversation and the shopping continued I managed to take a glimpse at my colleagues, which were now looking at me like I was communicating with some kind of aliens.

  When the girls finally left the shop, I was glad I met them. To me all that time was like a little pleasant break. The other girls working with me would start commenting the way the girls were dressed how they talked and how many different colours you could see on their heads. Gosh... I really wanted to slap them all. But who cares? If they had the same confidence as those girls did, they would dare to wear lingerie, on their everyday life. And now that we are talking bout styles ... My style is constantly changing. I just get bored reaaaally easily.

  So some people might have met me in lingerie, others with jeans, others in high heels, but all of them have shook hands with the same person. It’s just the clothes that change. So many people, mostly guys get the feeling I’m slutty, others that I’m cooler, etc etc. Point is our character lies withing and not on the way we get dressed. I’ve wore suspenders for a morning coffee and sweatshirt at a club, and every single time I can guess what kind of people I can atract, with my outfit only. To me this is a rule out-of-the-book that I never aply to. I look at people in the eyes, I even stare at them hoping to get the best out of them, the most realistic that I can get. But what I came to realise after all of these years is that, the world is filled with masks. Masks from shuttered glass, that can cut you, from glitter, that can blind you, from velvet, to fool you and stones, to keep you out. 

  Everybody forms his own mask depenting on, what they need to keep you away from and what to use to bring you closer. Mine is made out of diamond, you can see through it, it’s beautifull, majestic even but can also blind you and quess what. You can’t break it. What’s your mask made of?

[whisperhunter]

Feed the Whispers

#FeedtheWhispers | May 02, 2016

One thing i gotta tell you is this... I just feel amazing receiveing letters!​​

Wish I could give you guys my real home adress but that would be ... well dangerous. So you can let me know bout things you wanna discuss and stories you want to share... Anyone who needs his story to be private let me know! I'll see your lovely pair of eyes again soon!

[whisperhunter]

Let’s get Started

#PenStories | May 02, 2016

Okay then, so where can I start... Point is almost nobody is ever going to read the first post (lol) so let me try a bit and explain what's going on here.

 Let me tell you a story, about a girl and a pen.

  Pens were made in a time of need, when people needed to express feelings, keep memories and notes, down on a paper so that those things would never be forgotten. So that all these ideas, feelings and creations could be kept inside pages that would be forever hidden in shelves up untill someone ever looked for them. And the thing is, you can look for them at anytime, you can take your notes with you, carry them and edit them, give them away, share and expand them.    Exploration became a game for knownledge hunters. And don't you ever forget, that knownlodge is indeed, a power. That's why so many books have been burned throughout time, so as to prevent people to have access to such a powerfull weapon and keep them in darkness where they could manipulate the crowds and use them as the high society people wanted. So writing was their way to comunicate both in the open and also in secret. Writings we find today round the world give us detailed info from a period of time that we would never be able to access in real life. So this window gives us a taste of what it was like, what it felt like living there, what facinated them and what scared them, what they lived both good and bad memories printed onto some pieces of paper, delivered to us through time, giving us the chance to meet those people and explore them from pretty close.

  When the pen first got to that girl's hands she couldn't feel less happy for the feeling it gave her, from just holding that tiny thing onto her hands. She would try to write but continiously fail and that for she didn't yet know how to write. When she got to an age when she could finally write down complete sentences, the girls stories started coming to life. She was only 7 when her teacher turned to her mother and said "It seems she got a talent, i can see it in her pages, every line look like it's not a little girl just writing random words, here and there." But that talent was not yet to be revealed. As she got older she continued writing, mostly songs but then one morning, after a few of her friends abandoned her, she started writing her first story, her first book. Before that she would only keep a diary, a real one and a hopefully achievably miserable one. 

  The first one is the typical every day diary every teenager once tried to keep, usually during hard times, when things got bad. The second one I suppose you're still wondering what the hell? So let me tell you about her second diary, the one she would always hide, cause it was an almost everyday diary about memories and experiencies she never really went through. It was all a big ugly lie. But to your surprise she felt like she had been through all of these stuff. It all felt like a dream you see before you fell asleep, she could tell the difference between real life and dreaming, but her memories of them both felt the same. What a mind hah?

  Up untill that period of time all of these corrupted/confusing memories seemed like some kind of an escape for her. Days and years would pass, she would grow older and older, she would write more stories, more lies, more thoughts, she would admit her mistakes and she would always return to those mistakes for guidness and advice. But during her 18 year of life she realised every lie and every fiction her mind would have created were now starting to become real. Her worst nightmares, her craziest dreams, her lost ambitions and everything she would have ever write would become a new upgraded memory. Every line would take flesh and finally become a real story to tell.

So the writer has finally passed the phase one : 

The transition.

  Every story like this one can be found here on Wattpad, in my new book Pen Stories:

https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/70782951-pen-stories

​ I'll try to keep posting everyday my new chapters, ideas, anything I find interesting and course one of the most important things I want to post is stories of your own. Send me anything you can't discuss freely, stories you need to get out there and anything else you feel like sending!

Magic is on the way guys...

So I hope that's enough for a start, hope to see your pair of eyes again soon.

​​