So, I don't normally share stuff. Nor do I title them. Numbers will do.
I hope someone likes this crap.

1.
Every few months, perhaps weeks even, I feel acutely the evolution of mind which opens to me deeper caverns, peering through a previous collection of ideas; contexts, resources, aesthetics, reasons. I tirelessly explore them, I endlessly work to dissolve the organic barriers. Beautiful minerals are found here. Most are distinct in color, shape, radiance, energy. Some I find to be richer variants of those excavated closer to the surface. You can often dig up a rock and get a boulder in return.
These jewels will be brought to light, sculpted, broken down, refined; cities shining more brilliantly than yesterday, hills to come alive as guileless greenery and stoic stone play canvas for their long-lonely cousins.
I make haste to the horizon in my conquest! I ache for that pallid pearl ribbon to attire herself in all which Mother Nature has cruelly hid in her muddy closets.
And my land, seen from afar, will be to extraterrestrials a rare glow in theirs. They will come to me - they will take me to more magnificent worlds, just as soon I shall also expect visitors! Hearts and minds hither and thither exchanging the secrets of their own precious thoughtjewels.

2.
Flimsy tin, flimsy tin, bashed and banished in the wind. Beaten, creased; flat again. Imprints made; gone again. Battered and blown; here again. Not jealously; disappointment. Not disappointment; circumstantial indignation? Oh - how I hide, how I hide! How I forget what I keep inside! Super-ego, ultra-ego! My fault, again; once again!
Talk; spill; splatter upon me! Ask again; I'm silent! Just like them, purposely like them. It's easier to pretend to be like them.
No.. no. I'm absolutely envious she's able to feel that. I'm irate over the fact. I'm disgusted and fascinated by love as the way she describes it. I want to hold it dearly, yet I want to crush it between the tips of my fingers, yet I want to study it wholly. I want each and every feeling to creep upon me in certain duration, with uncertain intensity; directly proportional to time. I want to be unsure of myself, thoughts to seem unfinished and desires to go unfulfilled without the presence of that soul.
She lied; did she lie? To a nebula in the sky? Am I the large and lonely, dusty cloud, devoid of a star in me to shine? Is there fantasy gone uncultivated, left in me to die?
I hear myself in them and her. I laugh, I laugh to them from me. I know - I know! Everything, all of it, in me. Nothing new, nothing new. Guarded, hardened. I care not to tell. He does it for himself and tells you so. Wonderful - but I've heard it before, you know. From myself, not to the others. Why, yes, why, should I even bother? A whole half, and a third as well, is all the mind I would not yell. Perhaps the whole, the fourth - completion of me; to reveal I count not mandatory. So cease, please, to tell me of me, showcasing the light I find simply blinding.
Cynical jester with Utopian ideals and arrogant brilliance? Of course the world is frightened of one. Silent, brooding, antisocial teen? Let yourself be quicker than the flats of their feet. Feelings of greater grief at the sight of decomposition than your fellow demons? There is but a blind eye wont to turn from you. A strong memory? Expansive information assimilation and overall synthesis? Fluid intuition? Stone-craft rationale? You're behind the times, kid. We don't pray to genius anymore.
You tell a soul and you mean the whole. They couldn't guess through the piled-up mess. I only show, I can only show. Can they think for themselves? It's harder to show than tell. So cease, please, to tell me of me, to throw in my eyes what I already see.

3.
His world dominated by electronic aether, pumping and feeding the calculative need. A communal alike stands before his eyes. Their numbers lie in the millions. A force within his mind supplies inertia; the kindred momentum of others sustains initial conditions. Material concern diminishes at a rate directly proportional to virtual satisfaction. All ingredients required for a passable reality are present: non-autonomous entities, an ecosystem to sustain them by way of providing gains and losses, and a channel of communication open to all who would speak. Spatial extension is trivial, for superior storytelling would leave nothing unillustrated.
I hear it over and over – unspoken -, questioning itself; himself. A gaze peering over the barren unreality, a watchfulness never tiring waits through each electron sent, each received. Soon his life will be dependent upon the diligence of software developers, a group which takes their job as seriously as he takes his own surroundings. It is lost... or was it ever there? To scratch at the walls would be meaningless now. The formerly fluid mortar has been left long enough. To thrust the body against them would make not even a slight crack – it would be meaningless now. I watch from above, from the only opening to penetrate this cold consortium, the result of his billowing insecurity. It was left as a reminder of the fiery light which illuminates all that is disgusting to look upon, at night open to the silent song of gleaming creatures too far from his grasp.

thats great. 2 was very fun to read aloud, i liked the, damn i can't think of the word but its like the beat or rhythm.
liked them all very lyrical and descriptive.

Wow, I enjoy your writings very much. I like one, but two is much more powerful. The first half gave me a cold shiver. lol The mark of good writing. ^__^

One was very descriptive, almost vividly. I liked it a lot though.

Kudos