#1
I feel like this is a sort of return to me doing my thing where I write random shit and pass it off as writing. Anyway, here goes:

A nicely decorated room with two chairs, a man, a stack of books, and a television.

This is how the world ends.
You die with vinegar staining your lips reading
a life map you've made for yourself with the ink that
you spent a good 15 years brewing.
With your invitations and letters regarding TAG
tied into a noose and just barely making it across your
big fucking neck.
A pussy, a cunt, a man without balls even enough to stand up for
himself to the worst person he knows.
Making yourself what you always wanted to be towards the end of your life through a series of bulletins and kissing yourself for eternity,
Holding your hands together in a heart formation, watching the fire works from the train station in your mind, taking you to
uncharted territories,
looking for some Bill Burroughs lifestyle that you'll never live.
Or anybody that would want to talk to you that you would have any desire to
talk to right now.
Wade in the water, child.
#2
Random sh it, indeed. For whatever strange reason, i liked it. Some good metaphor, and I can hardlt say anything about lines that don't fit. It is, after all, random excrement of the right hemisphere.

I really enjoyed it, maybe because I haven't seen 678349 like it. Look forward to more.
c4c? link in sig
#3
Mmm, random? Thanks, I suppose, not at all the kind of reaction I was looking for. I'll crit yours sooner or later.
Wade in the water, child.
#6
Okay, after a fourth re-read, I think I've puzzled out the meaning behind it all. Can you maybe add some spaces or undo the bold or something? It's good stuff, but those words are kind of attacking me, lol.
#7
Quote by AWA
I feel like this is a sort of return to me doing my thing where I write random shit and pass it off as writing. Anyway, here goes:

A nicely decorated room with two chairs, a man, a stack of books, and a television.

This is how the world ends.
You die with vinegar staining your lips reading
a life map you've made for yourself with the ink that
you spent a good 15 years brewing.
With your invitations and letters regarding TAG
tied into a noose and just barely making it across your
big fucking neck.
Everything up until this point is absolutely glorious writing. I don't see how you are going to sing this though, maybe like screamo, you know...
A pussy, a cunt, a man without balls even enough to stand up for
himself to the worst person he knows.
What is going here?
Making yourself what you always wanted to be towards the end of your life through a series of bulletins and kissing yourself for eternity,
Ahhh... this is waaaay too wordy. I can't seem to make any sense out of it either.
Holding your hands together in a heart formation, watching the fire works from the train station in your mind, taking you to
uncharted territories,
I wasn't keen on the line breaks you empoyed here and throught this poem.
looking for some Bill Burroughs lifestyle that you'll never live.
Or anybody that would want to talk to you that you would have any desire to
talk to right now.
Now I'm starting to see a reason or method to this mad piece. Its just crazy as all hell, but I'm guessing for that.



Still, this seriously needs clearing up, its way to awesome to be left in the wet like this. I think you could improve the latter of the poem drastically and therefore encourage more crazy writing in smaller doses, less of a barage on the senses.
Your first section was stupendous, but the following five or six lines were just mental.

Digitally Clean
Last edited by AngryGoldfish at Sep 14, 2008,