#1
A silly descriptive writing piece that I shouldn't post, but I want to know what makes you feel you can't connect with it (if you can't, of course), because it's about something I really need to write about.


This evening we sit in our desert garden, breathing the milk of a soft moonlight as it winds in to the pores of our young, supple skin. One hand whispers to another, and comes the kiss of this land from its bearer. Through the fog of warm Mexican hash and the rising spirit of the Sacred Fire, thick, dusty air settles as the night draws nearer.

We are one.

This evening we meet in assembly under the fabric roof of the dinner tent. Collect your meal with gracious hands, thank the cook in a language you can't speak, but understand. Sit. Eat fresh dhosa with patient fingers, the reward for nineteen hours of steady fast. Discuss the day with dancers from some shore on the other side of the equator. Finish an hour later, stand, embrace a welcome cheek and shake a single hand. Return your plate to the counter. Return to the waiting dancefloor.

We are one.

Turn on the speakers. Hear the drummers. Let the DJ play the soundtrack to our tribe of trancers. Meditate to music no musician could ever create. Every hand up high waving like some ancient monster. Every single mind, every single life combines. We are here. We are the dancers.

We are one.

Take the trek back to your tent clutching an empty bottle of vodka. Pass by the grinning faces of the students and the market sellers, "space cake, space cake, 1.50 euro, space cake! Spaţiu tort, spaţiu tort, 1.50 euro, spaţiu tort!". Wind through a jigsaw of a thousand VW campers, all prettied up in fancy colours. Slogans and quotes painted lovingly on their dashboards about all kinds of ways of life, all kinds of 'love, peace, no war'. Finally collapse in a plastic camping chair. Say goodnight to your neighbours.

We are one.

Feel a light breeze as the lake water laps against your hardened feet. It's well past midnight here in Portugal, and the cold slowly cracks your wasted bones as you trickle a transparent blue over your skin. Thumping music washes the past week away from your exhausted brain. You await the queue for leaving. A queue to escape freedom. A thousand mile drive back to the big big city, the big job at the big company. The rude laughter of the workmates, the peers, the equals, when you reveal where you've been. The longing to feel again the water lapping against your feet, but you stare down at them now. A lone man in a vast, icy lake. Stare up at the last rays of a setting sun that bring such sadness. The thump thump thump of the music thundering towards the next two years of wicked blackness.

We are all.

There's only one thing we can do to thwart the plot of these albino shape-shifting lizard BITCHES!
#2
and the market sellers, "space cake, space cake, 1.50 euro, space cake! Spaţiu tort, spaţiu tort, 1.50 euro, spaţiu tort!".

I would remove the part about the space cake there- your imagery is so wonderful, and so generic that this part regionalizes it- the rest of the prose applies to anyone but you make me hit a speed bump when I read this part- it doesn't seem to fit in. The rest is wonderful.

I'm a huge Jim Morrison fan (of his poems) and this is somewhat in that genre. Nice work!
#3
I didn't quite connect with what you were doing, but I was pretty damn close. It seemed like the collective group of people weren't really pointed into a decisive thought, other than peace. But still, just them pointed at peace didn't seem specific enough.

Worthless crit, but that's all I gots. As usual, tone was muchos awesomeness.
#4
I really got into this, although I'm not one hundred percent positive what it is about. At first I thought it was about lovers, but by the end I was thinking more of a Woodstock Festival, hippies, peace, loave and happinness, kind of thing. I think that's a bit closer to what you were trying to convey. This is the best piece i've read from you.
#5
I started reading this earlier and I enjoyed it. blackdot. I'll give yoiu a legitimate crity when I'm sober babygirl.
#7
Quote by MoroneSaxatilis

I would remove the part about the space cake there- your imagery is so wonderful, and so generic that this part regionalizes it


Nothing beats a bit of Romanian, though
I'd personally say that if the rest of the imagery is indeed generic, it's that that's to blame.. but cheers. I'll think about it.

Monkeh: yeah, I want to put in a solider wall to build this off. I think I was messing with the silly repetition of the festivals tagline and built off that rather than the main idea that I got across in the last stanza, cheers love

kdownes: so you didn't understand it, but you think it was the best thing I've written? Think I've screwed up a bit there

Blackdotty and commenty, thank you

It's about a Psytrance festival that I went to in the summer. Best week of my life. I have more pictures that went with each of the scenes, but they got across the point so beautifully that they made my text kind of obsolete. Doesn't say much for the text, but it was such a beautiful place. Perfect. I'm trying really hard to capture it in writing.
There's only one thing we can do to thwart the plot of these albino shape-shifting lizard BITCHES!
#8
Ahh, righto, that make sense. So I was close with festival then. Phew!

And I did understand it, just not 100 percent. And you can still really love something and not understand it. I normally find your stuff too blatantly obvious, too in-your-face and cold. This had life, and colour, and imagery, and all sorts of juicy things. That's why I think it's your best work, regardless of whether i fully comprehended it.
#9
the only way i wouldnt be able to connect with this is because i wasnt actually there

but i wouldnt imagine it to be too dissimilar from many other raves or festival (so i'll have a crack at connecting) and you seem to have captured the atmosphere of events like that perfectly, or at least reflection on such events.

specific events (like the eating) are rushed through and almost blur together, but the actual music, and the reflections on how good the event was get to be recounted with poetry and great emotion. ("cold slowly cracks your wasted bones as you trickle a transparent blue over your skin" - fantastic line).
the most memorable content is about the depression after you finally get home to realise its all in the past, and obviously (from the "we are one") from the overwhelming constant impression that everyone there was there for the same reason as you. that great feeling of togetherness.

how am i doing?

i think i get it.

nicely done. and not a single reference to ecstacy...
--------------------i'm definitely the alphaest male here--------------------
#10
Thank you.

There wasn't much ecstasy there, it was mainly hash, acid and shrooms, a touch of ket, and a surprising amount a chenga. No one needed ecstasy, the love was already there
There's only one thing we can do to thwart the plot of these albino shape-shifting lizard BITCHES!