#1
c4c.


It’s the hallway glances that will always mean the most to me. The half or quarter second where she and I or he and I share our lives. It’s non-verbal, but pungent and tangible. His grimace, her faked smile, his busy schedule and over checking his watch to make sure that he’s still on time from when he checked it two seconds ago, her cell phone conversation that isn’t going as planned. For milliseconds, I get to step out of my life; out of my broken relationship (that she’s trying to wrench back together), my fear of what’s to come (the future always looks good from far away, like fat chicks look skinny about a mile out), my piss-poor GPA, and just bleed through them. For as long as I can stare into passing eyes, I get to feel. God, it’s amazing. Feeling. Something I haven’t done for myself in twenty-one years. I remember being five and standing at my best friend’s casket, thinking about the flashcards at school that day and telling myself that Danny was bound to die eventually at least he did it fast enough that I wouldn’t have to beat him in flashcard races tomorrow. No tears. No emotion.

Oh, here comes one. Fishnets, black hoodie, short black skirt, black hair... brown eyes. She’s a whore. I can tell it, and she knows it. Her glance is still singing the praises of last nights random encounter. She liked that one, it made this morning good. He was handsome in a scary sort of way, and the way he pulled her close right before she came; oh the exhilaration. God, she lived for that. If she could feel like that…

The moment passes. She’s on to her next meeting and I’m still standing at the corner of the hallway, just looking. Pretending like I didn’t just get high off of her emotions. Trying to hide the fact that I just took a hit in public, and my mind is racing with all sorts of ideas that could have never been there without my drug, without being a wallflower with pacing eyes.

Another specimen. He’s a professor; my physics professor actually. Typically a jolly fellow, but today his face is dark. Brows are furled, lips taught and poised to jump out and bite anyone who dares wander too close. He thinks his wife is having an affair. I know, because I’ve been there. I’ve tightened my lips and taken it out on friends but for different reasons than him. He’s hurt… bloodshot eyes tell me he was up all night thinking about it; he’s betrayed. I was never that, I was perplexed; but that’s a different story. He pauses, bald head gleams in fluorescent lights, and he turns into a classroom; eyes never lifting from the floor below him; but I know. I know he wants to burn a hole through the door and punch through the cinder blocks beside it, but he never will; he doesn’t have the balls. I know how that feels too.

Cheerleader. You can always spot them. Their eyes have a fake gleam about them. Like they painted a reflective film on them… to make sure they're always sparkling, just like she painted her teeth white. It’s the cheeks that give her away, a missed make-up spot that shows tired lines and dying skin. It’s red and chapped and tired of being hidden underneath a fake beauty. Her cheek is singing BB King and she’s chanting the latest pop song. Her cheek sings prettier; I can feel it; it touches my soul, reminds me that I should give up living vicariously through strangers… that I’m hiding behind the emotional foliage of teenagers and old men that have seen too little or too much to be of any logical value.

“Ummmm, why do you always stand here and look at me as I walk to class?” Dear, if you could see what I just saw in your face, you’d kill to just stand here and gaze.
#2
Nice man, I like the whole concept. The one thing that struck me was as soon as you started talking about fat chicks, that went clunk. It shattered the feel of the whole thing up until that point, you had all this beautiful vocabulary and then slipped into colloquialism. I dunno, it just didn't work for me. The ending lacked the punch that I wanted it to have, but I can't really explain why...I know not very helpful that was just my feeling on first reading. But overall really, really nice, the following are excerpts that I really like, and you can see I've taken quite a bit out of it.

Quote by ZanasCross
c4c.


It’s the hallway glances that will always mean the most to me. The half or quarter second where she and I or he and I share our lives. It’s non-verbal, but pungent and tangible. His grimace, her faked smile, his busy schedule and over checking his watch...

...I remember being five and standing at my best friend’s casket, thinking about the flashcards at school that day and telling myself that Danny was bound to die eventually at least he did it fast enough that I wouldn’t have to beat him in flashcard races tomorrow. No tears. No emotion...

...eyes never lifting from the floor below him; but I know. I know he wants to burn a hole through the door and punch through the cinder blocks beside it, but he never will; he doesn’t have the balls. I know how that feels too....

...Cheerleader. You can always spot them. Their eyes have a fake gleam about them. Like they painted on a reflective film on their eyes… to make sure it’s always sparkling, just like she painted her teeth white. It’s the cheeks that give her away, a missed make-up spot that shows tired lines and dying skin. It’s red and chapped and tired of being hidden underneath a fake beauty. Her cheek is singing BB King and she’s chanting the latest pop song. Her cheek sings prettier; I can feel it; it touches my soul, reminds me that I should give up living vicariously through strangers… that I’m hiding behind the emotional foliage of teenagers and old men that have seen too little or too much to be of any logical value.

#3
Quote by ZanasCross
c4c.


It’s the hallway glances that will always mean the most to me. The half or quarter second where she and I or he and I share our lives. It’s non-verbal, but pungent and tangible. His grimace, her faked smile, his busy schedule and over checking his watch to make sure that he’s still on time from when he checked it two seconds ago, her cell phone conversation that isn’t going as planned. Where's Zanas gone and what did you do with him? You've finally found what you've been lacking - connection. Beautiful start, I think everyone's done this at least once. For milliseconds, I get to step out of my life; out of my broken relationship (that she’s trying to wrench back together), my fear of what’s to come (the future always looks good from far away, like fat chicks look skinny about a mile out)Haha, great line, my piss-poor GPA, and just bleed through them. For as long as I can stare into passing eyes, I get to feel. God, it’s amazing. Feeling. Something I haven’t done for myself in twenty-one years. I remember being five and standing at my best friend’s casket, thinking about the flashcards at school that day and telling myself that Danny was bound to die eventually at least he did it fast enough that I wouldn’t have to beat him in flashcard races tomorrow. No tears. No emotion. My god this is brilliant. For once I actually care about your characters and it feels like a real-life situation, not some bizarre voyeuristic insight.

Oh, here comes one. Fishnets, black hoodie, short black skirt, black hair... brown eyes. She’s a whore. I can tell it, and she knows it. Her glance is still singing the praises of last nights random encounter. She liked that one, it made this morning good. He was handsome in a scary sort of way, and the way he pulled her close right before she came; oh the exhilaration. God, she lived for that. If she could feel like that… Beautiful, thats all I can say

The moment passes. She’s on to her next meeting and I’m still standing at the corner of the hallway, just looking. Pretending like I didn’t just get high off of her emotions. Trying to hide the fact that I just took a hit in public, and my mind is racing with all sorts of ideas that could have never been there without my drug, without being a wallflower with pacing eyes. A little weak, but not really really weak. I think it just lacks that little bit of imagery that usually makes your work sparkle.[

Another specimen. He’s a professor; my physics professor actually. Typically a jolly fellow, but today his face is dark. Brows are furled, lips taught and poised to jump out and bite anyone who dares wander too close. He thinks his wife is having an affair. I know, because I’ve been there. I’ve tightened my lips and taken it out on friends but for different reasons than him. He’s hurt… bloodshot eyes tell me he was up all night thinking about it; he’s betrayed. I was never that, I was perplexed; but that’s a different story. He pauses, bald head gleams in fluorescent lights, and he turns into a classroom; eyes never lifting from the floor below him; but I know. I know he wants to burn a hole through the door and punch through the cinder blocks beside it, but he never will; he doesn’t have the balls. I know how that feels too. Good, you've moved on from a stranger to someone you know, in a situation you can connect with. And the reader connects to. This is incredible, it really is.

Cheerleader. You can always spot them. Their eyes have a fake gleam about them. Like they painted on a reflective film on their eyesoh, oh, ig no no. Get rid of the first "on"… to make sure it’s always sparkling, just like she painted her teeth white. It’s the cheeks that give her away, a missed make-up spot that shows tired lines and dying skin. It’s red and chapped and tired of being hidden underneath a fake beauty. Her cheek is singing BB King and she’s chanting the latest pop song. Her cheek sings prettier; I can feel it; it touches my soul, reminds me that I should give up living vicariously through strangers… that I’m hiding behind the emotional foliage of teenagers and old men that have seen too little or too much to be of any logical value. I wondered where you were going to go with this, but I really like the character building through other's situations. For once, I actually feel like part of this, part of you, not some outside observer

“Ummmm, why do you always stand here and look at me as I walk to class?” Dear, if you could see what I just saw in your face, you’d kill to just stand here and gaze.


Well, what can I say? Wow, for starters. You've finally found the found the perfect formula of imagery and story. Your characters were real, living breathing people with relevant stories to tell, and for once I felt like I was seeing and feeling through you, not through Joe "peeping Tom" Blow. The last stanza was a killer, wrapped everything up beautifully. For once, I have nothing to complain about except for that one line with the repeated "on". Everything else was great as far as I'm concerned. Congrats, my man, you've won me over. Give "Who knew..." a glance if you want to pay me back. Cheers!
#4
Zach, husband, dear, I thought this was wonderful.

Thank you for trying out what I said. I don't have tear-apart-ing time now, but I will do so soonish (same as with tutherwun). And I like the equation/piece relation

Did you enjoy writing it?
There's only one thing we can do to thwart the plot of these albino shape-shifting lizard BITCHES!
#6
It’s the hallway glances that will always mean the most to me. The half or quarter second where she and I or he and I share our lives. It’s non-verbal, but pungent and tangible. His grimace, her faked smile, his busy schedule and over checking his watch to make sure that he’s still on time from when he checked it two seconds ago, her cell phone conversation that isn’t going as planned. For milliseconds, I get to step out of my life; out of my broken relationship (that she’s trying to wrench back together)The parenthesis feels superfluous if you're not going to expand), my fear of what’s to come (the future always looks good from far away, like fat chicks look skinny about a mile out)This makes me not like the narrator. It also undermines certain aspects later on regarding the cheerleader, there's no impact in what you say about the cheerleader if the narrator is just as shallow, my piss-poor GPA, and just bleed through them. For as long as I can stare into passing eyes, I get to feel. God, it’s amazing. Feeling. Something I haven’t done for myself in twenty-one years. I remember being five and standing at my best friend’s casket, thinking about the flashcards at school that day and telling myself that Danny was bound to die eventually at least he did it fast enough that I wouldn’t have to beat him in flashcard races tomorrow. No tears. No emotion.

Oh, here comes one. Fishnets, black hoodie, short black skirt, black hair... brown eyes. She’s a *****. I can tell it, and she knows it. Her glance is still singing the praises of last nights random encounter. She liked that one, it made this morning good. He was handsome in a scary sort of way, and the way he pulled her close right before she came; oh the exhilaration. God, she lived for that. If she could feel like that…

The moment passes. She’s on to her next meeting and I’m still standing at the corner of the hallway, just looking. Pretending like I didn’t just get high off of her emotions. Trying to hide the fact that I just took a hit in public, and my mind is racing with all sorts of ideas that could have never been there without my drug, without being a wallflower with pacing eyes.

Another specimen. He’s a professor; my physics professor actually. Typically a jolly fellow, but today his face is dark. Brows are furled, lips taught and poised to jump out and bite anyone who dares wander too close. He thinks his wife is having an affair. I know, because I’ve been there. I’ve tightened my lips and taken it out on friends but for different reasons than him. He’s hurt… bloodshot eyes tell me he was up all night thinking about it; he’s betrayed. I was never that, I was perplexed; but that’s a different story. He pauses, bald head gleams in fluorescent lights, and he turns into a classroom; eyes never lifting from the floor below him; but I know. I know he wants to burn a hole through the door and punch through the cinder blocks beside it, but he never will; he doesn’t have the balls. I know how that feels too.

Cheerleader. You can always spot them. Their eyes have a fake gleam about them. Like they painted a reflective film on their eyes… to make sure it’s always sparkling, just like she painted her teeth white. It’s the cheeks that give her away, a missed make-up spot that shows tired lines and dying skin. It’s red and chapped and tired of being hidden underneath a fake beauty. Her cheek is singing BB King and she’s chanting the latest pop song. Her cheek sings prettier; I can feel it; it touches my soul, reminds me that I should give up living vicariously through strangers… that I’m hiding behind the emotional foliage of teenagers and old men that have seen too little or too much to be of any logical value.

“Ummmm, why do you always stand here and look at me as I walk to class?” Dear, if you could see what I just saw in your face, you’d kill to just stand here and gaze.

I thought it was well written but you need to sort out your narrator. At the moment he's a mixture between an enlightened god-voice and a nasty small man who indulges in fantasy. Does he know the two people that he manages to give an l-depth description of their actiosn and problems? (girl and lecturer) or is he fantasizing? I think that should be more clear, as I think the distinction is important.

His shallowness is the other thing I don't like. It doesn't make me want to feel sorry for him because he has problems, it just makes me dislike him. If your going to have such a personal narration, then we're no longer able to interpret events for our self, so if your interpretation is displeasing then it's off putting. For me, at least.

Except for the bit about danny, I thought that was something that really worked emotionally. It was just honest. The bit about the three main people just seemed representative of a mean character.

Not to take away from the fact that I thought it was very interesting, well written and a great insight: what i didn't like could easily be what someone else loves.

if you want to crit back then there's a story in my sig
On vacation from modding = don't pm me with your pish
#7
I hope you don't take too much of these long, drawn out "break downs" of your piece into question sir. This one came from where poetry that shakes the sky comes from. And this didn't, don't ruin it for me. I loved it. Every. Word.

(Katherine, you don't know how to complete the square but you know about optical/lens based physics? You're a case, miss.) I liked the title, too.
マリ「しあわっせはーあるいってこないだーからあるいってゆっくんだねーん 
いっちにっちいっぽみーかでさんぽ
 さーんぽすすんでにっほさっがるー 
じーんせいはっわんつー!ぱんち・・・


"Success is as dangerous as failure. Hope is as hollow as fear." - from Tao Te Ching

#8
Quote by culex-knight

(Katherine, you don't know how to complete the square but you know about optical/lens based physics? You're a case, miss.) I liked the title, too.


My eyesight is screwed.

Zach, I agree about Stu's fat chick comment, and think that '(that she’s trying to wrench back together),' doesn't quite flow either. That's all I have.
There's only one thing we can do to thwart the plot of these albino shape-shifting lizard BITCHES!
#10
I forgot an if.

Compiler error!

"And if this didn't.***"

My apologies sir, it did.
マリ「しあわっせはーあるいってこないだーからあるいってゆっくんだねーん 
いっちにっちいっぽみーかでさんぽ
 さーんぽすすんでにっほさっがるー 
じーんせいはっわんつー!ぱんち・・・


"Success is as dangerous as failure. Hope is as hollow as fear." - from Tao Te Ching

#11
Concept is nice, and execution is great, but I' not quite fully immersed. It seemed like the piece was sort of a character development piece, which went through certain archetypes. So in the end, we're just toying with certain characters. All the signifigance and relation of what you see in them seems kinda... blown out of proportion. I'm not seeing the same thing as you. I'm not getting the same buzz.

My main beef is the first paragraph and the bit at the end. Take those out for just a second and read the piece. Then put them back on. Those two parts just don't really immerse me like everything else does, and they don't seem to be going in the same direction that I am.

I'm having a hell of a time trying to put this all into words, but I'll just say this: I don't like the beginning and the ending, but the middle was good, and execution was good.
Last edited by Ninjamonkey767 at Oct 17, 2008,
#12
Now this is the Zach that I love to read.
I think I'd like to shape my thoughts on it a little more before delving into a crit, just yet.
There's a road that leads to the end of all suffering. You should take it.


- Jericho Caine


secret, aaaaagent maaan.
secret, aaaaagent maaan.
#13
This was very pleasurable to read. I too am quite the people watcher and see things that are often unseen and hidden.

The style is great and I can really feel the characters here. You truly bring them to life. I was truly able to picture each one in my mind's eye.

I'll most likley be back cause I need to reflect some to give a better crit but I'll say 2 things for starters.

1. In the cheerleader stanza i dont like how you use the word "eyes" in two consecutive sentences.
2. In the same stanza...(and I've said this before in other crits to other people)...but I like the word "faux" so much better than "fake". It's a great word and is very poetic and says the same thing but with a little more mystery to it.

But yeah, expect to see me back here.

...

(THE SAGA if you have the time)
Last edited by Guns N Russians at Oct 19, 2008,
#14
Well well well well done, sir.
There's only one thing we can do to thwart the plot of these albino shape-shifting lizard BITCHES!
#15
I'm so pleased you recieved this award. You have been so awesome and it was seriously deserved - even though I haven't yet read this yet...
I'm skipping between network connections and computers so I'm trapped a little. I hope to read it soon.
#16
haha, i had to google the title and one of the results from the first page was this thread. i'm not taking physics this semester so i dont remember half the stuff.

as for the piece the concept was nice, relatable and was executed nicely. however, there were somethings that bothered me:

on the first paragraph (or stanza), some of the sentences are just too long imo. i suggest you break them up or add more punctuation to make it easier to read. this is what i'm talking about:

I remember being five and standing at my best friend’s casket, thinking about the flashcards at school that day and telling myself that Danny was bound to die eventually at least he did it fast enough that I wouldn’t have to beat him in flashcard races tomorrow.
you could use some punctuation before at least. i dont know, the transition between these ideas doesn't seem smooth enough, probably just me though.

I feel that the second and third stanza should be merged together, unless you have a reason for not doing so. You kept your ideas as one "specimen" per paragraph in the rest of the piece. Idk, it just seems weird to split this one into two. i know that you introduce a somewhat new idea but still.

another thing that bothered me was the BB king line. It doesn't work, imo. i dont know if it is BB king, the use of singing or what, but i hated it. You were just repeating what you previously said and it sort of dragged this stanza down. also the use of the ... in this stanza seemed unnecesary.
the ending was nice. i was expecting a little bit more, but its still nice.
the title was pretty good too, it relates to the piece. It reminded me of the other equation pieces you posted a while back.
are you studying physics or something btw? you seem to show interest on the subject.

overal this was very well written. you have a great way of saying and looking at things. you provided a situation we can all relate to in an clear way. I like that. Congratulations on wotw, definately deserving.

also, if you have time https://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=982159

cheers.
Last edited by cubs at Oct 21, 2008,
#17
Well done Zach. Strongly deserved. This piece is back to your old beautiful self. Congratulations
#18
This was good, but you know that already. The only part I dislike is 'like fat chicks look skinny about a mile out'. It was supposed to be a quick development of the characters tone, but it ended up making me stop and think about it for a bit. You need to get more specific with 'fat' or else it seems a forced, nonsensical joke. There's a few other little things but I won't nitpick (more). Great story, good wotw.
On the eight day we spoke back...

let there be sound.
#25
this piece makes me uncomfortable when I read it. like, it's hard to read. I feel so much smarter than the narrator, and not in a dramatically ironic way...

I dunno, i'll be back if you want me to.