#1
so ya, this is essentially OTS, except I wrote it in one straight shot on MS word rather than in this text box, nothing has been changed. c4c if you want, I know I owe one or two to Caz and Jamie so heads up on that youz guys.

O, and I'm sorry this is so Cliche.


Power {Broken Vodka Fist} rewoP


The French doors give way like vultures under limelight and I sprint into the budding Trillium air with torn shoe to a quickening cracked pavement. Thighs closed, stepping over child?s nursery rhymes and under naked clotheslines. I sprint; almost hoping time will be caught in awe of my flitter-flutter air-bound wings. There?s a snag on my leg, a claw and I spill across the moonlit streaks; my eyes roll around in a distant headlight. And while trying to prod around the inertia of my faded veins I mold fingers to obscure fists. Euphonic silence resounds, while my lips will to me and call me, and I hit and I hit and I hit at the pavement in disbelief, struggling to pry out of the concrete some sort of answer to rhetorical rhetoric: Is cancer real?

The analog clouds flash gaily backwards. 5:27 PM.

A slap of faux phallus broke the pampered silence-
?Hey man, get that salami outta my face.? I chuckle.
?That?s not what she?ll be saying when you give it to her.? He laughed, making a half-assed attempt at humor by throwing his hips in gyration.
?Who?? I asked, even though I could easily have guessed.
?Oh, you know who, even if you dun wanna admit it.?
He smiled out a patronizing squeal.
?Aw, **** off man, y?know we?re just friends. Now stop ****ing around and help me pick out a tie.?
He didn?t seem to here me.
?Then why you goin together tonight??
I reluctantly answered.
?I asked her if she was going with anyone, there was an awkward silence, she said no, she asked me, another silence, I said no, then we hugged.?
?Aww, see, you guys would be perfect together.?
?Didn?t I tell you to **** off??
??I?m just sayin man.?
?Well stop sayin and help me pick out a tie.?
Silence.
?Wanna know what I think??
?No.?
?I think that you want her, bad; and she wants you even worse.?
?Really, you don?t say... do you like this checkered pattern??
?Yep, and I think that you guys are gonna hook up tonight.?
?Whatever you say man, now what time is it??
?5:30?
?Aww, ****, we?re going to be late.?
?I?ll go get the car started, meet me in 5.?
And with that he left, sprinting down the hallway.
?Alright, I just need to get my radio.?
I screamed after him, even though I didn?t care if he heard or not.
?I love her. I love her. I love her. I love her.?

They hang in a cirrus tick. 5:46 PM.

The ride passed without a breath, our thoughts withheld in the radio?s entrancing stare.

Altostratus wisps of straining sleet rise. 6:10 PM.

She smiled from across the heavy wood floor, wrapped like a package in bows and buoying stares of passing young suits. But there she was waiting, stalling and baiting. I yelled to her:
?nice night for a dance, huh??
?It sure is.?
Silence, I watched intoxication take effect in the air and suddenly started laughing, giggling and mocking the entire scene: *****s and pimp-less sluts weaving little tapestries of drunken grinding. Maybe I was going to tell her I loved her.
?What?s so funny?? She asked, almost indignant in confusion.
?Y?know, alcohol just wipes off decency long enough for you to realize who you aren?t, but who you?ll strive to be.?
?There you go; you drama-queen.? She was chuckling now too.
?Wanna dance?? I said.
?Yeah, but not here, you bring that radio I asked for?? She whispered into my melting ear.
?Of course.? I said. She took my hand.
?Then follow me.?

And they fall back as Stratus, purified. 6:30 PM.

She led my shadow and shadow-less body around the winding halls of our ancient school; twenty-nine looping stretches in all, to a classroom marked in Roman numerals: XVI. Shutting the door behind me I outstretched my arm, holding it in midair, yearning to feel skin in the darkness and as I pushed her invisible hair out of her formless face I felt real. ?Was this reality?? I thought to myself as she narrated drunk, about how the air looked so sexy outside, turning in little whips of smoke.

Fifteen minutes of frozen cumulus form. 6:45 PM.

In the darkness I assumed form, in the darkness I felt love, in the darkness I was love. Clothing flashed in my mind, Barbie boxes and interchangeable Mexican bartender specials splashed onto rebirth. I took out the transistor radio and set it to the classical channel, as that was the only one I could possibly remember. Staring slow, building upon rigid concerto over our moving black figures, mirroring our subtle awkward motions. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Lo-

Cumulonimbus; cancer never spoken. 1 AM.

I swim in the open innocent air drinking up on nighttime blindness. And I am not real, I am not real, I am not real, I am just a radio stagnant in static, intoxicated in kisses. Cancer is feeling, forever etched in sound by her crimson lips mashed on my makeshift vodka fist.

I could kill her, yet I couldn?t tell her I loved her? And the scary part is, I?ll never forget her.

Last edited by #1 synth at Sep 26, 2006,
#2
Quote by #1 synth
so ya, this is essentially OTS, except I wrote it in one straight shot on MS word rather than in this text box, nothing has been changed. c4c if you want, I know I owe one or two to Caz and Jamie so heads up on that youz guys.

O, and I'm sorry this is so Cliche.


Power {Broken Vodka Fist} rewoP


The French doors give way like vultures under limelight and I step into the budding Trillium air with torn shoe to a quickening cracked pavement.

vultures under the limelight? bad simile. Quickening cracked pavement. Obviously just putting off that its getting worse but you make it sound like its ALREADY cracked not quickening the pace of the cracking.

I sprint, thighs closed, stepping over child?s nursery rhymes and under naked clotheslines. I sprint; almost hoping time will be caught in awe of my flitter-flutter air-bound wings.

What is the meaning of the naked clotheslines here? are you just trying to rhyme and lose meaning because of it? id like an explanation there.

A snag on my leg; I fall; my eyes roll around in a distant head. And while trying to prod around fate and faded veins I mold my fingers into obscure fists beside the euphonic silence my lips will me and I hit and I hit and I hit at the pavement in disbelief, struggling to pry out of the concrete some sort of answer to rhetorical rhetoric: Is cancer real?

Switching norm sentance structure with a snag on my lag. But it doesnt sound right. I also dont like the distant head part of it... ha the "i hit and i hit and i hit" reminds me of my writing. i also think a simple "the" should be added "sort of answer to the rhetorical rhetoric" thought i dont understand how is cancer real a rhetorical question...


The analog clouds flash gaily backwards. 5:27 PM.


A slap of faux phallus broke the pampered silence-
?Hey man, get that salami outta my face.? I chuckle.
?That?s not what she?ll be saying when you give it to her.? He laughed, making a half-assed attempt at humor by throwing his hips in gyration.

Its immature and asinine, but i guess well see where it goes.

?Who?? I asked, even though I could easily have guessed.
?Oh, you know who, even if you dun wanna admit it.?
He smiled out a patronizing squeal.
?Aw, **** off man, y?know we?re just friends. Now stop ****ing around and help me pick out a tie.?
He didn?t seem to here me.
?Then why you goin together tonight??
I reluctantly answered.
?I asked her if she was going with anyone, there was an awkward silence, she said no, she asked me, another silence, I said no, then we hugged.?
?Aww, see, you guys would be perfect together.?
?Didn?t I tell you to **** off??
??I?m just sayin man.?
?Well stop sayin and help me pick out a tie.?
Silence.
?Wanna know what I think??
?No.?
?I think that you want her, bad; and she wants you even worse.?
?Really, you don?t say... do you like this checkered pattern??
?Yep, and I think that you guys are gonna hook up tonight.?
?Whatever you say man, now what time is it??
?5:30?
?Aww, ****, we?re going to be late.?
?I?ll go get the car started, meet me in 5.?
And with that he left, sprinting down the hallway.
?Alright, I just need to get my radio.?
I screamed after him, even though I didn?t care if he heard or not.
?I love her. I love her. I love her. I love her.?

They hang in a cirrus tick. 5:46 PM.


boring! :P

We hardly ever talked in his little pinto, and this trip through the highway was no exception. As the lanes rolled by we just sat and listened to the whir of his little car stereo system blaring out Elliott Smith. All I could think was ?I hope the main attraction isn?t those slutty twins.? When he came to a park I felt the little transistor radio poke me through the breast pocket, it felt hot, like it was branding me?

Altostratus wisps of straining sleet rise. 6:10 PM.

I saw her from across the heavy wood floor, wrapped like a package in bows and buoying stares of passing guys. But there she was waiting, stalling and baiting for me, just for me. I yelled to her:
?nice night for a dance, huh??
?It sure is.?
Silence, I watched intoxication take effect in the air and suddenly started laughing, giggling and mocking the entire scene: whores and pimp-less sluts weaving little tapestries of drunken prophesy.
?What?s so funny?? She asked, almost indignant in ignorance.
?Y?know, alcohol just wipes off decency long enough for you to realize who you aren?t, but who you?ll strive to be.?
?There you go; you drama-queen.? She was chuckling now too.
?Wanna dance?? I said.
?Yeah, but not here, you bring that radio I asked for?? She whispered into my melting ear.
?Of course.?
?Then follow me.?

And they fall back as Stratus, purified. 6:30 PM.

She led my hand and shadow-less body around the winding halls of our ancient school; twenty nine looping stretches in all, to a classroom marked in Roman numerals: XVI. Shutting the door behind me I outstretched my arm, holding it in midair, yearning to feel skin in the darkness and as I pushed her invisible hair out of her formless face I felt real. ?Was this reality?? I thought to myself as she narrated how drunk she was and what she wanted to do, to touch.

Fifteen minutes of frozen cumulus form. 6:45 PM.

In the darkness I assumed form, in the darkness I felt love, in the darkness I was love. Clothing flashed in my mind, Barbie boxes and interchangeable Mexican bartender specials splashed onto rebirth. I took out the transistor radio and set it to the classical channel, as that was the only one I could possibly remember. It began to spew out rigid concerto over our moving black figures. She asked for a kiss, I gave her a kiss. She asked for a kiss, I gave her a kiss. She asked for a kiss, I gave her a kiss. She asked for a kiss, I gave her a kiss. She asked for a kiss, I gave her a kiss.

Eyes brought into existence through Cumulonimbus are born to live and live to die. 1 AM.

I swim in the open innocent air drinking up on nighttime blindness. And I am not real, I am not real, I am not real, I am just a radio stagnant in static, intoxicated in kisses. Cancer is real and I fear it will be forever etched in ?love? by her crimson lips mashed on my makeshift vodka fist.


Eh im done with this. It seems like a lame attempt to write like matt. Especially with "radio stagnant in static intoxicated in kisses." and the cancer part you were using. Anyways, it gets very simple and boring, not really your style. I didnt even want to read on cause it was that boring... but ...eh... yeah... cya

-Mike
#3
k, I'm all fine and good with people hating my stuff, in fact, thats when i learn my strengths and weaknesses, and who responds to what, however, I find it completely humiliating, degrading, and completely unecesary to compare work. I dont write for a 'lame attempt to write like Matt', I just dont ****ing do it, and its insulting to think that you believe I would try to, even subconciously. I write for myself, by myself and in all truthfulness i can only be compared to myself.

Quote by Mike
Quickening cracked pavement. Obviously just putting off that its getting worse but you make it sound like its ALREADY cracked not quickening the pace of the cracking.


I know... I wanted it to be like that... The fact that it is alread cracked mirrors the ice on which the narrator is standing between himself and time.

Quote by mike
What is the meaning of the naked clotheslines here? are you just trying to rhyme and lose meaning because of it? id like an explanation there.

I never, and i repeat, never, sacrifice meaning for rhyme, and i also strive to make every single line in every single piece count. Of course this has meaning. The nursery rhyme is an allusion to the whole 'step on a crack/break your mother's back' thing that was prevelant so many years ago (I'll let you figure out the meaning relative to the piece by yourself). As for the 'under naked clothelines'. The symbol in this is self hanging, 'clothelining yourself' on tight nylon thread, it also is attempting to comment on the motif of darkness and blindness I was trying to institute here and how lack of 'sight' makes life thrive in complete purity.

Quote by Mike
Anyways, it gets very simple and boring, not really your style. I didnt even want to read on cause it was that boring... but ...eh... yeah... cya


thats cool man, thanks for reading, sorry to have been so defensive in parts of this post.
#4
dude lyke i always wondered whut ur style is like. like is it going to be a song(obviously not) or is like a story kind of thing going on? hmm i wonder? cuz ur stuff is like in paragraphs i jus dont get it. probly ur way of expresing yourself
pleez crit mine toooooo it cliche but never really get that much crit4crit
#5
^ I call it synth prose.

If you had written a shorter piece, I would critique this. Tut the fact that it is so long, and you owe me a few anyway, I have next to no motivation to critique this. I'm sure you understand

Jamie
#7
^^ Of course I read it, synth, I always read your stuff

Like Mike, I basically got a bit bored.

Jamie
#9
when it was good it was really good like:
I hit and I hit and I hit at the pavement in disbelief, struggling to pry out of the concrete some sort of answer to rhetorical rhetoric: Is cancer real?

I liked this bit, seemed very real:
A slap of faux phallus broke the pampered silence-
?Hey man, get that salami outta my face.? I chuckle.
?That?s not what she?ll be saying when you give it to her.? He laughed, making a half-assed attempt at humor by throwing his hips in gyration.
?Who?? I asked, even though I could easily have guessed.
?Oh, you know who, even if you dun wanna admit it.?
He smiled out a patronizing squeal.
?Aw, **** off man, y?know we?re just friends. Now stop ****ing around and help me pick out a tie.?
He didn?t seem to here me.
?Then why you goin together tonight??
I reluctantly answered.
?I asked her if she was going with anyone, there was an awkward silence, she said no, she asked me, another silence, I said no, then we hugged.?
?Aww, see, you guys would be perfect together.?
?Didn?t I tell you to **** off??
??I?m just sayin man.?
?Well stop sayin and help me pick out a tie.?
Silence.
?Wanna know what I think??
?No.?
?I think that you want her, bad; and she wants you even worse.?
?Really, you don?t say... do you like this checkered pattern??
?Yep, and I think that you guys are gonna hook up tonight.?
?Whatever you say man, now what time is it??
?5:30?
?Aww, ****, we?re going to be late.?
?I?ll go get the car started, meet me in 5.?
And with that he left, sprinting down the hallway.
?Alright, I just need to get my radio.?
I screamed after him, even though I didn?t care if he heard or not.
?I love her. I love her. I love her. I love her.?

wrapped like a package in bows- great line

but then when it was bad it wasnt that great at all;
She led my shadow and shadow-less body around the winding halls of our ancient school; twenty-nine looping stretches in all, to a classroom marked in Roman numerals: XVI. Shutting the door behind me I outstretched my arm, holding it in midair, yearning to feel skin in the darkness and as I pushed her invisible hair out of her formless face I felt real. ?Was this reality?? I thought to myself as she narrated drunk, about how the air looked so sexy outside, turning in little whips of smoke.

Fifteen minutes of frozen cumulus form. 6:45 PM.

In the darkness I assumed form, in the darkness I felt love, in the darkness I was love. Clothing flashed in my mind, Barbie boxes and interchangeable Mexican bartender specials splashed onto rebirth. I took out the transistor radio and set it to the classical channel, as that was the only one I could possibly remember. Staring slow, building upon rigid concerto over our moving black figures, mirroring our subtle awkward motions. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Lo-

Cumulonimbus; cancer never spoken. 1 AM.

I swim in the open innocent air drinking up on nighttime blindness. And I am not real, I am not real, I am not real, I am just a radio stagnant in static, intoxicated in kisses. Cancer is feeling, forever etched in sound by her crimson lips mashed on my makeshift vodka fist.

I could kill her, yet I couldn?t tell her I loved her? And the scary part is, I?ll never forget her.

i dont know, it was a confusing piece overall but it had its good points
there are doors that open
there are doors that dont

A recent study shows that 8% of teenagers listen to nothing but music with guitars in it. Put this in your sig if you're one of the 92% who aren't close-minded morons.
#10
I'm going to be brief, because I'm feeling very lazy...

The dialogue is very "WB", so to speak. Dare I say - be more awkward. In a piece like this, standard "realistic" dialogue is too realistic, and detracts from the undercurrent of surreal imagery (which, although some of the wording is clumsy, is excellently portrayed in the clouds dictating next to the time).
The imagery and descriptors are set to contemporary-fiction-overload for the most part. It seems either out of your own style (eeh) or like this is just a sub-par piece for you (more like it). From a technical level, it works, but the over-arching impressions leave a lot to be desired - maybe fluctuating between more surreal moments with a variation in syntax... I may be going crazy, but the thing just didn't seem "experimental" enough - it felt like you're very comfortable and, actually, bored with the style (evident in the syntax).
The ending was... well... The ending would have been better had you gone ahead and ended it with "cancer is feeling". More of a bang (!), I suppose, is what I'm getting at...