c4c. if you think you can stomach this. it's truth. it's ots. it's my life right now in a raw raunchy orgy of words on a dusty screen. it's a joke. it's sad. it's a lie. no it's not, it's my life. is it? it is.

it is. it has no choice.

at noon my roommate is too loud for me to sleep anymore. so i put on my get-up and I put in so I can get off, and I get out. off to the ghetto. where i'll be a restless junkie in a costume made of calm. and I'll cop. and i'll flip. oh, fuck the cops. hit the stash spot. turn it up. flip it again and it's four pee em. time to catch your ride.
the costume comes off and the shit comes out and goes where it goes. since we don't have a choice but to feel how we feel, we feed ourselves some synthetic choices. time to feel it, business is over. but then again maybe not, hey maybe we could do both just chill and be hot, eh? no ones gotta know that we know that they know, ya know? i pretend to appreciate the thoughts my brain produces sometimes just to appease it's arrogance. bags are full. pockets half. time to hit the dive. it's 10.30 and what's slow is getting...less slow.
at midnight i'll be important. leading actor wherever I go. feeding my supporting cast with lines and hooks. an unstoppable force of feel good fun and laughter. i provoke thoughtful conversations from the dull sound of the ceiling fan in a tiny room packed too tight. i'm a freight train of good intentions and ill received actions and the mirror is on the tracks. and the tracks are in the mirror. the mirror and it's lies. and the mirror... lines. snifffff. my pockets are full and so are their pipes and so is my nose.
by 4 am what's in my pocket doesn't matter. what's in my nose stopped working. did i stop working for it? too much cut. cut the shit. i need it harder. harder. but she doesn't. and i don't want to give it anyway. and she's not real. if she were i'd have left her. her and her way of making me see my fantasies with omniscience. me and my way of leaving her there. pretending to see what i saw in her anywhere else i go. go? okay. i should escape the dream but it's harder than it looks. her and the rain and the poetry thing? her and her eyes and no we weren't stoned!the dreams I had with her while I was awake. lucid. dreaming. vanilla sky? oh yeah, no. that's right I was wrong that's just the name of some movie. we never needed movies. we made our own. her and i in the library. could have been a porn if it was taped. could have been a film if it wasn't real. couldn't have been real if it was a flick though. "it" tends to lose it's worth in metaphysical gold when scoped out in doses through a lens. and then i found some doses by accident. and i left her in the park with a beautiful note from a manic man who sometimes appears in broken noises of a broken fan, in my cell sized room of the halfway house. and then she cried when i was gone and she read it i hope. i hope she cried because she felt it too. but probably not because i could only feel her because she couldn't feel it when i touched her. and i left her in the park. and i probably said i'd be back in twenty on a text or line when i fell into my nod. and i probably turned it to forty. she definitely stayed sixty and called to say she's gone. and she is... gone. it's all gone.
and by six my mind is stuck with me, and it keeps asking me to leave. and i want to but i'm too afraid to try. or maybe it's hope. but probably not. hopefully not? i hope it isn't hope because it'd be one of those confusing cups inside of a cup inside of a cup inside of a cup inside of cup inside of a cup- kinda things. ya know. no, you don't know. it's okay, neither do i but it's okay to pretend. just read the backs of all the sleeves all the books that smart people read. and get your trendy gear that's made to break by kids with broken fingers. find all the cheapest hippest crap and pay the hippest highest price. because you don't care. and you aren't afraid to spend how much money you spend just to prove to everyone how much you don't care. yeah. i dont care either. not caring is so cool. it's also convenient for excelling in deviance. are we deviant because they painted the don't press it button all over the stuff we love now? do we love it because they told us not to? ah. probably not. that would mean i'm the same as the people i rip to shreds for being that way. couldn't be me. now my mind is producing too many thoughts. it keeps asking me to leave. leave. leave. leave!
and I'm watching the sunrise with my heart beating from my chest, trying to make myself a part of it's memory. but i can't draw my life from the sky any more, i'm it's bastard child and i'm unforgiving of it eluding me.
so I rake the shag rug with a fork and piece together a mother that loves me.
Last edited by clichealias at May 2, 2011,
I couldn't grasp on to this in any traditional narrative sense. There's not much of a sense of place, I just feel like I'm reading someone talking to themselves, stream-of-consciousness type. Maybe it's the formatting, but I had trouble figuring out what I was supposed to really latch on to here, what is supposed to really resonate in this jumble? I find contrast a very important and helpful tool in writing prose in a more experimental, poetic sense as you seem to be doing here. Some more traditionally written scenes, exposition, dialogue, etc. would help break up the jumble of thoughts and carry us through this passage easier.

But there are some very profound thoughts in here, I would really love to see them brought to light better.

And to be fair, I read this in a bit of a hurry. I'll come back and give it a second go and maybe I'll find a bit more clarity.
art tumblr

If I'm not raw, I'm just a bit underdone.
Last edited by Svetlova at May 4, 2011,
i buy and sell clarity. i also hustle lots of confusion.

great prices too. let me know how much you want and maybe i can get you a good price.


Thanks for reading. If you have any specific ideas I'm all ears, or eyes I guess. Gimme your link.
That's okay. I stopped giving a **** the moment I realized that you can post on a website for ****ing 6 years and still get ignored unless you have something to offer them. What do people want me to say? I think that 75% of the writing on this forum is ****ing awful and needs more to be completely redone. I think a lot of people just need to stop writing, because they aren't good at it.

Should I tell people that and then ask them for a critique?How am I supposed to critique that and get anything in return? Oh yeah, I'm supposed to suck dick. I don't suck dick, figuratively or literally. I'll have my ****ing little brother whose in the 7th grade edit it if I need editing work done. I don't need anyone else for that.
It seems like you've developed a completely undeserved ego. Honestly this piece isn't very good. It's mostly incoherent and any overarching message you were trying to convey was lost in this stream or consciousness jumble. Personally I think it deserves a major rewrite.

I just ****ing hate these temper tantrums.
art tumblr

If I'm not raw, I'm just a bit underdone.
its unfortunate that you responded to your own thread in such a juvenile manner because I actually liked this and wanted to give you a critique.
her and i in the library. could have been a porn if it was taped. could have been a film if it wasn't real. couldn't have been real if it was a flick though.

for some reason, I first read this as 'a flick through', which I like better than a 'flick though'.. i think if u changed it, this could almost be an entire (albeit short) poem in itself. wouldn't say that with word 'though' used, though.

so I rake the shag rug with a fork and piece together

I thought the imagery with the first part of your last line was incredible, but the second part, the very last, was very obvious, and should be replaced with something else .
I'd like to see more of this imagery, instead of a more literal telling. if you're too literal on some of this stuff, you can leave yourself too open that it's hard for others to relate to your life, I guess I could say, as it relates to your original content post. for example, i can't relate to what a hipster is, i don't even know what that word means in the first place, I hear of it in like a show review describing the crowd going in and coming out, or like in the zach galifianakis bit about hipsters in new york city subways in their skinny jeans, all too cool for school, and he can barely resist yelling out, as the subway is on its way, "hey everybody, here comes the choo choo!" .. But when you talk about your nose, etc., it's like you want us to feel sorry for you, which of course we don't, whether that was your original intention or not (likely, prob not), and finding a way to describe it in less literal terms is what I was looking for that I didn't find much, save for the two comments above. Be that as it may, if it weren't for your later two responses above, esp ' if i need i can get little brother do it for me' (w?), this would be a quality post, and it deserves it more than it got because of your later responses.


at first I thougght post #5 was a joke, and a good one at that
Oh, my friend, that attitude needs to change, it doesn't suit you well.
I'm a tad busy today as so I'll be making this brief, but I actually enjoyed this piece, Svetlova kinda hit the nail on the head with what I was thinking as I started reading the piece but as I got further into it, it started to remind me of some of the things I used to write back in the day and how and why I used to write them, so granted I couldn't connect to your words exactly, I could connect somewhat and that made it more enjoyable to me. I don't really have much else to add at the moment, but I'll try to give it another read later on sometime and add more.
thanks for the reads and the comments.

and I know I'm an asshole. I probably say things to people who don't deserve to hear them or read them. But, if what I say affects them they probably have problems that are bigger than we could resolve in this box.

sorry anyway. i really like a girl who is a neon chalk drawing that I made when I was a kid. but i'm a rainstorm. so there isn't much point.