Please, any criticism would be greatly appreciated. I plan on submitting this to several publications if it ends up being great.

Thanks, c4c.


Across the street the ticker read “Girl, 8, still missing, Officials Say.” I remember calling my mother on my cellphone and crying. Not about anything specific, I just cried.

I saw a book from Nichole ‘Snooki’ Palazzo in the window of a book store and a convention for young long blonde cheerleaders. I stood watching fake blonde wigged moms check their cellphone, their long blonde daughters check their cellphone. They were beautiful or something else like beauty. Like a dog earred book, I guess ugly then. I could see the part of their ass that meets their thigh and I cried some more but my mom wasn’t listening then.

I had lunch after that and I heard that Subway became the largest fast-casual food chain in America recently. I ordered a Meatball Footlong with Oregana, Parmesian and Olives. I think it was on Herbs & Cheese with Provolone cheese, but it could have been Italian. I spoke with the guy up front, I don't remember his name but his teeth were crooked. That’s all I noticed. This was five dollars and I had a newspaper but I didn’t read it and left it in my booth. I wanted to talk to someone about their lives and whether they listen to bad music or movies because they want to or because it's what they've been cultured to do. I kept looking out the window hoping to see something happen. I don't know what happens outside other than walking, driving or cycling. Collision. I remembered about my newspaper and I was hoping to read it but realised I didn’t care, but I did. I think. And that’s why I cried earlier.

The walk home is eerie and the streets are long but there aren’t any trees. Maybe it was the homeless. Maybe the smell of the city; like skunks or blueberries or something. I think that the worst nightmares are the ones where you can see everything and it’s just as frightening when there’s nothing. To end up realizing that all your fears are everywhere and that it isn’t tangible, like isolation or inadequecy, the degradation of culture, or cheerleaders. Six inches of a Meatball sub worth aprox. two dollars and fifty cents. Cheerleaders again, and then forgetting it all because my DVD collection is larger than my book collection and I don't like looking outside because all I see reflects back onto me. I can attest that culture is a mirror and when I stare at it with my young person peepers it takes me and, whether I'm staring at myself or an ugly deflation is up to what I'm starring at. I don't know.

I walk across a bridge every day and every day I look past the bridge into the small creek that swallows around the bend of the breaking trees. Our believes swallowing little future babies that we think about at night, the long distance between home and work or the branches that fell into the river. The gossiping leaf or the starling finch staring at the fault in the river bed, tadpole full. The vireo nest, the lolling catfish or in the striking bone of the all gone eight year old. Her hair washing around the corner of the creek, really that hair that’s all I saw, wading riverpast. The snare or the fake tan of her young body. I dropped my sub, and I climbed through the barbs, the razors and the thin prick and I fell into the water ankle deep and then it fell out and I was waist deep.

I moved to the blonde sprawling little bleached out blonde blameless thing, that blonde growing that blonde staying that blonde tendril reaching and then it was sinking and it was misery before I turned that corner. I thought before I came to her let the skin be sweetly dead, still dressed let her eyes be closed, let her hands rest folded, like her feet bare shoes and her teeth white and pearl so her family can know she died pretty, beauty-pagent beautiful.

Turning that corner my heart fell out into the river and I saw; no, only a wet, blonde wig and I held it and everything I felt vanished.

Part of me was sad, and I wished for validation for all my pessimism in her bones; stuck gorgeously to harsh reality.
Last edited by Something_Vague at Apr 10, 2011,
whats a snooki?
Internet trolls are like sap in trees. sticky and annoying, but good on pancakes.
I enjoyed it a lot, it reminded me of 'Less Than Zero' by Bret Easton Ellis for some reason. I didn't like the 'forget it' part. That seemed quite a pretentious thing and it just seemed a bit too try hard mysterious, angst ridden character. Apart from that I wouldn't mind reading more at all, it seems you wear your influences on your sleeve if that makes sense. Good job, I enjoyed it.:
The title threw me but I'm glad I kept reading- definitely worth it. I can see the Ellis comparisons and I do think that they're valid comparisons to make. Good job, I really enjoyed it.
First, for the criticism.

The second stanza was phrased awkwardly. There were parts where I felt you missed on something being plural, or where it felt like something should just have an 's' at the end of it...does that make sense? I like the idea, but it was gone about poorly.

Next stanza is where I'm starting to feel badly about the piece, just because it seems like you're trying to hard to roll with the 'train of thought' idea, and it feels...fake-ish. Also, make it "I think I did" instead of "I did I think," otherwise it sounds ugly...and not in the way you're hoping it would.

Next, "all yours fears" is weird too. I'm feeling better about it here though, because the details start to sound meaningful, and not just put there for taste. They provoke something; they're worth caring about.

"Glowing or growing" is forced, but besides that, everything surrounding the end of this piece is perfect.

As a whole...I really, really enjoyed it. The end made this piece. I'd agree that I didn't like forget it, since it was pretentious and all, but the way you came back to it near the end was nice. All in all, tighten up some of the grammar...leave the run-on sentences, since that's what this piece is made of at a lot parts, but there are some bits that just sound ugly any way you dress them up. The Ellis comparisons are pretty obvious, and this story is obviously a post-modern effort, but I didn't mind it. He's a great author.
Thanks all, a new edit will surface later tonight. I've actually never read Easton Ellis in my life. I know his work but I've never touched one of his novels.

This was my take on Tao Lin, actually, or an attempt to enter that frame of mind.

Again, thank you all, an edit will come soon.
You've plumbed missing children before.

I don't think this is a very strong effort from you. It is the definition of meandering. I'm too busy to write more at the momeNt.
Poor advice.
Quote by stellar_legs
You've plumbed missing children before.

I don't think this is a very strong effort from you. It is the definition of meandering. I'm too busy to write more at the momeNt.

I don't think it's meandering at all, just very indirect. When Matt first showed me this, I thought it was a bit cryptic at first, you just have to slow down and pay attention to detail, or the lack thereof. I understood a character in a state of distracted inattention, coming to terms with his hatred of society, and then realizing that his nature is potentially purely cynicism, and not an inherent knowledge of true reality.
art tumblr

If I'm not raw, I'm just a bit underdone.
I changed a few things, including the title. Lisa brought to my attention that it was the reason I was getting Easton Ellis comparisons.

I added more detail and fleshed out the ideas behind what I was thinking.

Let me know if this helps.
Thanks, any one else? I can leave a critique back if you leave a link.