Roller's Reasons

rollerC

Bob-omb
Roller's Reasons
to try to live my way, among other things

Hey, there. If you haven't seen me around yet, I'm Roller. I've been posting a bunch here since I became active and I figure it's about time I share some of my artwork because I think I need some sort of artistic outlet. A couple of my friends have such threads on here, namely Roserade, and I think it would be nice to have a similar thing for myself.

I mostly work on music and writing, but I do some spritework and some Photoshop design too. I'm a primarily a filmmaker, but I don't think I'm going to post any of my videos on here as they feature myself or others in my life in-the-flesh and that could lead to a sticky situation.

My writing is usually has a pretty affirmative tone to it, which is why I call this "Roller's Reasons", but I'm going to be posting a lot more than just writing, so don't let the title (or its flashy font) mislead you.

If you have any suggestions, revisions, or constructive criticism to offer to any of my works, you are more than welcome to offer it. I always appreciate any advice.
Expect to see a weird mix of seriousness and memes throughout the life of this thread.



I'll start with something I wrote recently, not too long ago, and showed to a few people on the forums already.

To those who wait

Believe me when I say that it is not worth it.
Because the world prefers no change over change.
The world prefers the status quo and
While it doesn't want to kick you out of the circle
It will if you become too
Belligerent.
It will if you become too
Invasive and
It will if you become too
Persuasive.
Because the world prefers no change over change.
The world prefers the status quo and
If you try to make a change and you fail then
Don't expect to see any
Difference.
Don't expect to see any
Happiness and
Don't expect to see any
Ease.
Because the world prefers uncomfortable over comfortable
Try as you might there's no changing the status quo;
You will always.
Always.
Find yourself searching for more.
And there won't ever be anything
worth the wait.




Thank you for taking the time to check out this page.

-R
 

rollerC

Bob-omb
Here's a short story I wrote last November for my Composition class called L'agonie de la Soif, which literally means The Agony of Thirst in French. I got the idea for this when my teacher said "You could make the story about something as simple as a glass of water!" and that's exactly what I set out to do.



[names redacted, obviously]
Period 5
13 November, 2017
L'agonie de la Soif
It was a lively Monday night. My boss, Joe, had asked me and my coworkers
out to a work dinner at one of the most high-class restaurants in the city,
L'agonie de la Soif.
As my fiancé, Sophia, and I, entered the lobby, smartly dressed, a young
waitress arrived to seat us, and a large sign instantly noticeable from the entrance
read "NO SHIRT, NO SHOES, NO SERVICE." The waitress took us up a long,
winding flight of stairs to a circular dining hall adorned with pedestals and dotted
with tables with lions carved on either side, as if the lions themselves were
jumping out to escape their wooden cage within the leg of the table.
We stepped off the stairs, the waitress pausing for a short moment as if she
wanted us to take in our surroundings, perhaps the soft jazz band playing waltz
onstage tucked away in the edge of the round hall, the glistening, sparkling water
flowing out of yet another bust of a lion...beautiful, softly splashing on the pristine
surface of more water, water upon water upon water....
My throat choked up, and I realized that I had been salivating so much that
I was cutting off air to my esophagus. I swallowed my spit down and looked
blindly at the band; there would be a tall, lean glass waiting for me on the table,
surely.
"Right here," the waitress said, pulling out a chair first for Sophie, then
myself.
Joe sat right next to me. "That's everyone!" he said joyfully, his bearded
face curling upward in what was likely a smile beneath his long whiskers. Upon
hearing this, the waitress began pouring us water from a pitcher starting with Joe
and traveling away from me--it became increasingly clear that there would not be
enough water to pour my glass, and after pouring my fiancé's glass halfway, the
waitress realized this and apologized.
"I'll come back with more, I'm sorry," she said dryly.
I gritted my teeth. "It's alright." She didn't respond, turning and walking
away to the other tables littered around us before I could even finish my
sentence.
Joe turned to me, obviously amused. "Tough luck."
I didn't respond. My coworkers began conversation; I tuned them out. My
eyes were focused on the waitress, smiling cutely yet emotionlessly, as she went
pouring more water at other tables.
Sophie tapped me on the shoulder.
"What?" I said.
"Stop looking at her."
Before I could explain why I was looking at the waitress, Sophie turned
back to the table smiling, her hand noticeably distant from mine, where it was
once beside it.
I scoffed quietly. I'd explain the situation to her later. For now, my godsend
was here.
"Here's another pitcher of water for the table," the waitress said, unmoving
and eyeing me. I stayed away from her gaze; Sophie wasn't the only one who
noticed my focus.
She placed the pitcher down on the table on the opposite side of Sophie,
and Sophie neglected to realize that I had not had anything to drink, nor that I
was staring intently at the water.
The waitress began taking orders, and my coworkers each chose dry meats,
which just made my thirst worse. My fiancé ordered smoked salmon, probably to
spite me. The waitress didn't ask for my order, and started to walk away. Joe,
noticing this, rose his hand.
"Excuse me," he boomed. "You're forgetting Micheal's order."
"Ah, yes, Micheal," the waitress said. It was clear that her "mistake" was no
accident.
I struggled to speak, my lips glued together. "Filet mignonette, medium
rare, please."
My coworkers gave me judging looks. A brazen one said, "Won't you get
heart disease?"
I ignored them, instead tapping Sophie on the shoulder. She turned, a little
miffed, and I pointed at the pitcher of water. She followed my finger to the
waitress's behind, and kicked me from under the table. She gave me a face that
said "What the hell is wrong with you?" Embarrassed, I turned away, deciding not
to work out the miscommunication.
It felt as though hours passed, with no drinks, no food, no nothing, but the
tall pitcher of cool water stayed on the edge of the table. I felt my brain thump
louder and louder, the room hotter and hotter, my suit sweatier and sweatier. My
lips dried. My face soured. My hands shifted. My feet tapped. I couldn't bear it
anymore. I reached across my partner's plate and grabbed the glass with
defiance. I brought it to my side with confidence. And I poured the cool, fresh
water into my glass with gallantry.
After filling my glass to the brim, I realized the room was quiet. My
coworkers looked at me with awe. At first, I felt proud. I had stood my ground. I
expected people to clap. But as the seconds passed, my face turned to horror. I
had spilled water all over Sophie's lap.
She looked at me with fury in her eyes, and I knew I was going to get it.
Standing up, she threw her engagement ring at me and began yelling, yelling her
embarrassing misreadings to the whole room.
"What the hell has been your problem tonight? Are you trying to piss me
off? Because if so, it's working, Micheal Worthstock. You stare at some server for
the whole dinner, you point her out to me, and when I ignore you, you pour
water all over me. This is unbelievable!" she shrilled loudly, and I shrunk into my
seat with every word.
"Let's go," she said with an air of finality, and she took me by the arm and
pulled me out of the room in shame, my newly-poured glass neglected on the
table, never to be touched again.

Excuse the weird formatting, I copied it from a PDF. I hope you enjoy(ed) it.
 

rollerC

Bob-omb
I like to do some speech-writing too, so if you wanna check that out here's my speech for when I ran for Recorder for my high school this year.

Hey, I’m [Roller], and I’m running to be your Recorder for the next school year. For two years, I’ve been in Convo, where ASB appropriates thousands of dollars towards a whole bunch of different school activities. Dances and socials, concerts and installations, field trips and arts classes, all of these are funded by ASB.
But I hear a lot of people say “I don’t care about ASB”, “It doesn’t matter”, “I’ll just vote for my friend”. And maybe the reason everyone thinks that is that our school doesn’t do a good job of telling people what ASB does and why it matters, but when I hear this kinda stuff, it worries me, because ASB is an integral part of [school], and they represent you.
Now, in case you didn’t read my Letter of Intent, I wrote that the reason you came to [school] is to practice your art in a “safe learning environment”, and ASB is critical to that. Because we wouldn’t be an art school worth its salt if it weren’t for everything ASB does for us. ASB is a representation of YOU, and what you want from the school, and brushing off ASB as a nonimportant part of the school is brushing off the whole reason you’re here in the first place. When you vote for all those positions in the library, you aren’t voting for your closest friend or favorite person, you’re voting for the person who think is best for the job. The person who cares most about the school. The person who will reflect your and your peers’ personal values the best. And that’s true for all the positions, not just High School Facilitator and Middle School Facilitator. Every position has more in their job than just writing stuff down, or counting money, or facilitating Officer’s meetings. We all have the job of representing you, as a school and as an individual.
Maybe you think [opponent] will represent you the best, or [opponent 2] will. And that’s okay. But what I want you to know is that I care about ASB and Recorder and about our school, and I think you should too. Vote your conscience, as they say. And if I’ve appealed to your conscience, then I’d thank you to consider voting for me.
And now…[pull out recorder slowly, put it up to lips, then pull it away]
What, you thought I would actually play that? This joke is completely unoriginal.



"Opponent 2" ended up winning because she did an entire flip on-stage, but a lot of people told me my speech was the best, so I'll just take it and try again next year. Hopefully I'll win eventually! :)

(to clarify, our school is an art magnet school)
 

rollerC

Bob-omb
I was looking at some sprites online, and I saw Mettaton in an interesting pose and had an idea for a resprite, check it out by opening the spoiler.


YOU KNOW I HAD TO DO IT TO EM
I know I got you Rose, I know I fuckin got ya :boo:

Update: Rose definitely saw it, and he definitely didn't like it :)

God, I am cancerous.
 

rollerC

Bob-omb
Alright, let's make this serious again. Here's a poem I wrote about a week ago that's got a bit of an edgy title--New Text Document. I guess a good second title would be Head-Spin and I can't choose between them so I'll just do both.

New Text Document

A yearn for
A clean typeface
And the cleanly worded
A letter unlike
Any other--Could it ever go well?
Understandably not
It has never worked in the past, after all.
An
Appreciation for the
Aspiration and the
Appetite for love is something we
All share--yet it's still unwelcome!
Understandably so--
It is scary to confront the feelings of another.
But is that true?
Is it not but a farce?
My head starts to...
Spin
If I can do it,
why can't they?
Or can they?
Am I just...
Special?
Or am I just...
Stupid?
With a naivete for
Passion and
A quest for
"The one"
but who is that one?
Can there truly be only one?
Or are there multiple, living in tandem with one another,
just out of sight but never out of mind--
and I am losing my mind, after all.
The fruitless quest for a love
A love equivalent to my own...
if I have any love at all.
A love equivalent to my own...
ah, well.
There will come a day.
I cling on to hope that there will be a day.
So I wait.
So I wait.
So I wait.

The formatting is a little odd because I originally wrote it in Notepad, where you can't use things like Right Align (which this poem would've definitely benefitted from) but it still works nonetheless. Anyway, there it is.
 
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