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Posted: **Tue Dec 18, 2012 3:23 pm**

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wXw6znXPfy4[/youtube]

Posted: **Tue Dec 18, 2012 10:10 pm**

snipelfritz wrote:[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wXw6znXPfy4[/youtube]

Posted: **Wed Dec 19, 2012 12:04 am**

This is currently in the editing stages: Did a re-read and found several things I wanted to change, but I don't want to mess with the dude editing it for me, so posting as is:

It's 14 chapters: Just posting number one.

I am Destroyer

Chapter 1: The Bucket

Leo sat on the fence outside his house and allowed himself to drift deeply into thought. His hands were still slightly damp from this morning's activities and he noticed the water had crept slowly up his sleeve. He thought about a number of things but mostly what was on his mind was one small calico cat with greenish eyes. This cat pranced back and forth in his mind for a number of reasons. First he was not sure if calico cats were allowed to have green eyes, and second if calico cat's were not allowed to have green eyes why did this one have them? Did this make it another type of cat? Could another type of cat look like a calico? Wasn't looking like a calico what made the cat calico in the first place? The confusion of these thoughts distracted him slightly from the morose that came over him as he sat on the fence. In truth the real reason this cat drifted through his conscious thoughts was because it was the last one to go in the bucket. The bucket was a terrible thing on Leo's farm, once in a while when things got over run with Cat's and the cats started eating things that no-one on the farm wanted them to eat; it became necessary to get the bucket. In a way it made sense, instead of 40 cats starving all winter, there would be 20 that could get their fill of mice.

The hardest part for Leo was that it was his farms practice to take the young ones first. This happened for a number of reasons. Simply put they could get more of them in the bucket. But more complex than that was the balance of what made sense to Leo. The older cats took care of the younger so by killing the older you would eliminate more cats than you wanted. Also at some point the older cats would get past useful and you would shoot them and throw them into the woods, this was sort of a pass time on the farm. Leo didn't have the stomach to shoot the younger cats so they were sent to the bucket.

Being a creature of habit, this bucket ritual remained mostly the same. He would always use the newest pail he could locate, not for it's newness as much as for the air tightness that was necessary for his activity. He always gently washed the bucket, explaining the water on his now drying sleeves. He would then walk about the farm gathering up the kittens and gently set each one inside the tiny death chamber. The next step was simple; he would take the lid to the bucket and quietly place it on top. He would press down the edges to ensure no air could pass between the fresh outside and the toxic within. It was so simple. The kittens would enjoy the warmth of each other on a cool autumn day they would start to pur, they would fall asleep and somewhere along the lines their brains would loose oxygen and thusly the will to live.

The calico cat with green eyes had almost thwarted his plan, he almost let it go. He looked at it and appreciated both its beauty and its uniqueness. He then realized that were he to let this tiny kitten go it would serve as a constant reminder to him of his own humanity, of his own weakness and of his willingness to be fooled by beauty. So he pushed it gently into the bucket and closed the lid. Leo was not a brilliant man but his deep thought's made him a wise one. His thoughts now bounced to a time when his young niece had came to the farm on bucket day. She had mentioned how cruel the practice was and how he would never do anything so evil to a human. He had responded in his typical blunt fashion reminding her that these cats were far from human. He thought about this conversation and he laughed. If only she had known that he did not hold humans in much higher regard. Leo waited a few more minutes near the fence and now realized the purring had stopped. For him this brought on another necessary task. It was time to empty the bucket

Posted: **Sat Feb 02, 2013 5:04 pm**

here's two short stories wrote recently.

-

A lonely mother overwhelmed with the loss of her beloved husband and son, empties the last few drops of vodka into her mouth. Streams of makeup run down her face. She went upstairs, passing in the hall her child’s abandoned room, to the master bedroom where she entered the bathroom. She undressed completely and stared into the mirror. The woman who was once full of life, love, and hope was now full of deep sorrow, and lifelessness. She started the shower and waited until the water warmed up before getting in. She stood motionless until the water ran cold. She turned off the water, stepped out of the shower, and toweled off her wet skin. After she was completely dry she fixed her hair real nice, just like she did whenever she went out with her spouse, and then proceeded to redo her makeup. When she was done, she went back into the bedroom and walked into the walk in closet. She moved all of her clothes side to side until she found the black dress her husband had bought her. She stepped into the dress and moved it up her body and pulled the straps over her shoulders. When she was fully dressed she went over to her jewelry box and pulled out the strand of freshwater pearls that her husband also bought her. She put on the necklace and went back into her closet. There was a worn brown shoebox on the top shelf hidden behind several other boxes. She took the box down and carried it to the bed. She sat down on the edge of the bed. After taking the lid off the box, she emptied the contents of the box onto the bed. Her husband’s revolver and several rounds fell out onto bed. She picked up the revolver to examine it and ran her fingers across the smooth metal of the barrel. She opened the chamber and put in three rounds, leaving an open space between each bullet. She stared at it for while before closing the chamber and spinning it. Then she slowly raised the gun and pressed the barrel firmly against her right temple, and pulled the trigger.

-

John walked over to the fireplace and took his fathers hunting rifle off of the mantle. He checked the gun to make sure it was loaded. John stepped outside and started towards the woods behind his house. Only stopping once to look above him at the plan flying across the clear blue sky. When he was a kid John would like to walk through the forest. He liked to be alone, with only his thoughts. The woods were different. In the woods he didn’t have to deal with people, society or technology. In the woods John felt no sense of nervousness, or paranoia. It was peaceful. After walking for a little while he found a nice open area in the middle of the wood. He sat down on a fallen tree to admire the nature. John listened to the sounds of birds singing, animals walking through the brush, and the sounds of the mating frogs in the river. He watched the trees as they swayed in the soft wind, and watched a squirrel running up the large trunk of a tree. John looked at his lap and looked at the gun. He lifted it up and pulled it towards him until he could feel the metal scrape against the bare underside of his chin. He fired the gun. There was an echo throughout the forest, and then it became completely silent. A few moments later the birds began chirping and frogs continued mating. John wanted to end his life in the forest for the sake of his poor mother. He didn’t want her to have to clean up the mess.

Posted: **Sat Feb 02, 2013 7:21 pm**

I dont normally share my writing but here's a recent one from my blog.

Flowers bloom and die in your semisweet chocolate eyes.
How I wish I could fly, the places I would take you to melt the bitter when you cry.
Breathe in the Cosmos and let the earth out with a sigh.
I could show there’s no reason to worry, you just have to let me try.

Posted: **Sat Feb 02, 2013 8:02 pm**

can we criticise?

Posted: **Sun Feb 03, 2013 12:17 am**

i'm ryan summit
all of my posts are like this
welcome to the fuzz

Posted: **Sun Feb 03, 2013 1:10 am**

DarkAxel wrote:can we criticise?

I dunno, can you?

I thought that was sort of the point.

Here's something I wrote once, was required to be under 500 words or something like that.

Mourning After Pills

Johnny awoke abruptly. His body felt heavy and he could hardly move his head. The room was dim. The only light was filtering through the window shades from the outside. An alarm clock, an empty highball glass, and a half-empty bottle of sleeping pills sat on the night stand. The clock was blinking "12:00."

It took all of his strength to get out of bed, but as soon as both feet were on the ground, the room was spinning. He threw open the door, took a hurried ten paces, and vomited into the toilet. When he had finished, Johnny wiped his face with the sheet of paper he suddenly realized he had been clutching in his left hand. On his way to the bathroom, he had inadvertently pulled it off the outside of his bedroom door where it had been taped the night before. Now covered in half-digested whisky and kung-pow chicken, he could hardly make out what he had written on it. All that Johnny, in a semi-paralysis on the floor, could recognize were a few names: Marco, Caroline, his parents, the rest was illegible. He didn't quite remember all the words, but he knew the purpose of that note when he made those violent, addled strokes across the page the night before. And now it was moot as he'd be the only one to see that paper as he flushed it down the toilet.

After an hour in the bathtub, he made his way onto the couch. From there, Johnny could reach his phone in order to check his voicemail. Both messages were from earlier in the day:

The First Message: "Hey Johnny! It's Marco. I'm sorry, after the power went out, I couldn't make it out last night to help with, uh, what did you say you needed help with? Something about moving boxes of Caroline's stuff, but that I should check your room first. You were kinda slurring when we talked last night. Are you ok, man? I'm sure this whole thing sucks for you. Call me back when you get this."

The Second Message: "Johnny. It's Caroline, calling to remind you that I'll be coming with Rick to get the rest of my stuff today. We'll be there right at three. I still have the key and Rick's with me, so you don't even need to be there."

Johnny looked around the room. Three large boxes and one smaller box occupied an entire corner of the small apartment room. "Those are hers and the rest is mine," he thought, "I don't even need to be here." His watch said two o'clock as he walked down onto the street. He decided to give Marco a call. His whole body hated him, but his mind was screaming for a beer.

Posted: **Sun Feb 03, 2013 2:39 am**

DarkAxel wrote:can we criticise?

please be as brutally honest as you can towards any of mine.

also, I really liked that snipz!

Posted: **Sun Feb 03, 2013 3:09 am**

Thanks buddeh!

Posted: **Sun Feb 03, 2013 3:21 am**

Josh Pelican wrote:i'm ryan summit
all of my posts are like this
welcome to the fuzz

hahahah so good

nieh wrote:
DarkAxel wrote:can we criticise?

please be as brutally honest as you can towards any of mine.

also, I really liked that snipz!

On the suicide short stories:

I like how you bring out details of your character's behaviors / memories / life. I would elaborate on the more so the character can really come to life.

& I noticed some unnecessary repetition in some of your writing. For example:

The woods were different. In the woods he didn’t have to deal with people, society or technology. In the woods John felt no sense of nervousness, or paranoia. It was peaceful.

Rather than saying the "the woods" each time I would describe it as if the reader already knows the subject since you just mentioned it. Having to read it three times in a row didn't feel very fluid to me. Maybe replace the phrase "in the woods" with descriptions of how John experiences the woods or what he notices. Example: "The woods were different. Among the oak and shuffling leaves he didn't have to deal with people, society, or technology." Something like that.

Of course, simply my own opinion

Posted: **Sun Feb 03, 2013 3:31 am**

I tend to favor writing pretty short bits. Usually with desperate or depressive themes. It works for me :idk:

A couple recent things (if you have any feedback of any kind, I'd appreciate hearing it):

untitled

tender decay
a succession of sins
my wilted fortune
buried in blood

(did I ever really
make you proud?)

- - - - -

shroud

a thin line of ash
tracing the frame
of what remains

tattered,
but whole

holding on
to the last memory
he ever spoke

- - - - -

untitled

The dim foyer
where time stands still

Hopeful voices and worrisome eyes

Bend your wrists
into mine

Solace from the cold
one last time

//.

Posted: **Sun Feb 03, 2013 3:41 am**

God, we're a sad bunch.

:lol:

Posted: **Sun Feb 03, 2013 4:06 am**

googizled Poe

A Dream Within A Dream
by Edgar Allan Poe
(published 1850)

Take dis kiss upon tha brow!
And, up in parting from you now,
Thus much let mah crazy ass avow --
Yo assain'tt wrong, whoz ass deem
That mah days done been a thugged-out dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, and up in a thugged-out day,
In a vision, and up in none,
Is it therefore tha less gone?
All dat our crazy-ass asses peep and seem
Is but a thugged-out trip within a thugged-out dream.

I stand amid tha roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within mah hand
Grainz of tha golden sand --
How tha fuck few, muthafucka! yet how tha fuck they creep
Through mah fingers ta tha deep,
While I weep -- while I weep!
O Dogg, muthafucka! can I not grasp
Them wit a tighter clasp?
O Dogg, muthafucka! can I not save
One from tha pitiless wave?
Is all dat our crazy-ass asses peep and seem
But a thugged-out trip within a thugged-out dream?

Da Raven
by Edgar Allan Poe
(published 1845)

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak n' weary,
Over nuff a quaint n' curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
Az of some one gently rapping, rapping at mah chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at mah chamber door-
Only this, n' not a god damn thing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was up in tha bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought itz pimp upon tha floor.
Eagerly I wished tha morrow;- vainly I had sought ta borrow
From mah books surcease of sorrow- sorrow fo' tha lost Lenore-
For tha rare n' radiant maiden whom tha angels name Lenore-
Nameless here fo' evermore.

And tha silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me- filled mah crazy ass wit dunkadelic terrors never felt before;
So dat now, ta still tha beatin of mah heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrizzle at mah chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrizzle at mah chamber door;-
This it is, n' not a god damn thing more."

Presently mah ass grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," holla'd I, "or Madam, truly yo' forgivenizz I implore;
But tha fact is I was napping, n' so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at mah chamber door,
That I scarce was shizzle I heard you"- here I opened wide tha door;-
Darknizz there, n' not a god damn thing mo'. Put yo muthafuckin choppers up if ya feel this!

Deep tha fuck into dat darknizz peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal eva dared ta trip before;
But tha silence was unbroken, n' tha stillnizz gave no token,
And tha only word there spoken was tha whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, n' a echo murmured back tha word, "Lenore!"-
Merely this, n' not a god damn thing mo'. Put yo muthafuckin choppers up if ya feel this!

Back tha fuck into tha chamber turning, all mah ass within mah crazy ass burning,
Soon again I heard a tappin somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," holla'd I, "surely dat is something at mah window lattice:
Let mah crazy ass see, then, what tha fuck thereat is, n' dis mystery explore-
Let mah heart be still a moment n' dis mystery explore;-
'Tis tha wind n' not a god damn thing more!"

Open here I flung tha shutter, when, wit nuff a gangbangin' flirt n' flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of tha saintly dayz of yore;
Not tha least obeisizzle done cooked up he; not a minute stopped and stayed he;
But, wit mien of lord and lady, perched above mah chamber door-
Perched upon a funky-ass bust of Pallas just above mah chamber door-
Perched, n' sat, n' not a god damn thing mo'. Put yo muthafuckin choppers up if ya feel this!

Then dis ebony bird beguiling mah fucked up fancy tha fuck into smiling,
By tha grave n' stern decorum of tha countenizzle it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn n' shaven, thou," I holla'd, "art sizzle no craven,
Ghastly grim n' ancient Raven wandering from tha Nightly shore-
Tell mah crazy ass what tha fuck thy lordly name is on tha Nightz Plutonian shore!"
Quoth tha Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled dis ungainly fowl ta hear discourse so plainly,
Though itz answer lil meaning- lil relevancy bore;
For our crazy-ass asses cannot help agreein dat no livin human bein
Ever yet was blessed wit seein bird above his chamber door-
Bird and beast upon tha sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But tha Raven, chillin lonely on tha placid bust, was rappin only
That one word, as if his thugged-out ass up in dat one word he did outpour.
Nothang further then he uttered- not a gangbangin' feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely mo' than muttered, "Other playaz have flown before-
On tha morrow he will leave me, as mah hopes have flown before."
Then tha bird holla'd, "Nevermore."

Startled all up in tha stillnizz broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," holla'd I, "what it uttas is itz only stock n' store,
Caught from some unaiiight masta whom unmerciful Disasta
Followed fast n' followed fasta till his jointz one burden bore-
Till tha dirgez of his Hope dat melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never- nevermore'."

But tha Raven still beguiling all mah fancy tha fuck into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cold-ass lil cushioned seat up in front of bird, n' bust n' door;
Then upon tha velvet sinking, I betook mah dirty ass ta linkin
Fancy unto fancy, thankin what tha fuck dis ominous bird of yore-
What dis grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt n' ominous bird of yore
Meant up in croakin "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged up in guessin yo, but no syllable expressin
To tha fowl whose fiery eyes now burned tha fuck into mah bosomz core;
This n' mo' I sat divining, wit mah head at ease reclinin
On tha cushionz velvet linin dat tha lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet linin wit tha lamp-light gloatin o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore, muthafucka!

Then methought tha air grew denser, perfumed from a unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on tha tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy Dogg hath lent thee- by these angels he hath busted thee
Respite- respite n' nepenthe, from thy memoriez of Lenore, muthafucka!
Quaff, oh quaff dis kind nepenthe n' forget dis lost Lenore!"
Quoth tha Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" holla'd I, "thang of evil, muthafucka! - prophet still, if bird and devil, muthafucka! -
Whether Tempter sent, and whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on dis desert land enchanted-
On dis home by Horror hustled- tell mah crazy ass truly, I implore-
Is there- is there balm up in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth tha Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" holla'd I, "thang of evil, muthafucka! - prophet still, if bird and devil, muthafucka!
By dat Heaven dat bendz above us- by dat Dogg our crazy-ass asses both adore-
Tell dis ass wit sorrow laden if, within tha distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom tha angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare n' radiant maiden whom tha angels name Lenore."
Quoth tha Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be dat word our sign up in parting, bird and fiend," I shrieked, upstarting-
"Git thee back tha fuck into tha tempest n' tha Nightz Plutonian shore, muthafucka!
Leave no black plume as a token of dat lie thy ass hath spoken, muthafucka!
Leave mah lonelinizz unbroken!- quit tha bust above mah door, muthafucka!
Take thy beak from up mah heart, n' take thy form from off mah door!"
Quoth tha Raven, "Nevermore."

And tha Raven, never flitting, still is chillin, still is chillin
On tha pallid bust of Pallas just above mah chamber door;
And his wild lil' fuckin eyes have all tha seemin of a thugged-out demonz dat is dreaming,
And tha lamp-light o'er his ass streamin throws his shadow on tha floor;
And mah ass from up dat shadow dat lies floatin on tha floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore, muthafucka!

well I found that funny so

also..
three is too many
two is too few
one fell off the roof
one was put in a hole
the sky looked back
the the birds barked
the gears lost their grease
and the trees bit
and what ever it is
is full of shit.

Posted: **Sun Feb 03, 2013 5:51 am**

I'm a bit too busy with editing articles and stuff, so i'd rather look at the longer pieces when i have more time... but i noticed one thing about this

psychedelicrelic wrote:I dont normally share my writing but here's a recent one from my blog.

Flowers bloom and die in your semisweet chocolate eyes.
How I wish I could fly, the places I would take you to melt the bitter when you cry.
Breathe in the Cosmos and let the earth out with a sigh.
I could show there’s no reason to worry, you just have to let me try.

now, i know it's poetry and supposedly, every word has its place. but as deformed by the last few months of editing content for our college magazine, i can't help asking - is the word "semisweet" chosen on purpose? Because it seems a bit... stylistically out of place, breaking the atmosphere, a bit alienating maybe... BUT it might have been the purpose

and also it's subjective

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