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nieh wrote:

DarkAxel wrote:can we criticise?

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

well, the first sentence... it's like a theater play that unveils the whole background right in the beginning by fake dialogues and remarks (e.g. The Real Inspector Hound). No offense, it's just that you don't need to tell the woman's story like that, you can write the short story in the way that we understand her story from it... i recommend checking out Hemingway he was a master of that style of narration

also... when you look at the stories, you use the personal pronouns very repetitively... maybe with longer sentences, you could avoid that that's more of a stylistic thing

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

about being able to criticise... i'm studying English language and literature, in the future, I'd very much like to get both MA and PhD and I'm not only lead to think about writing in classes, but i've been working for a few semesters on a student's magazine, in the last semester editing A LOT of articles and picking stuff to be published... i'm no expert, but this is becoming a part of my life, so i hope no one feels offended if i choose to criticise

i'll gladly send you some of my stuff later

DarkAxel wrote: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

I feel it doesn't work with out semisweet. It's not only describing the chocolate but the feeling and spirit behind their eyes. I also feel it helps express "melt the bitter" in the next line. Without "semisweet" chocolate feels only to be a description of color and leaves the poem lacking depth. I can see what you're saying, it has more syllables than any other word there. But it works in the song I wrote around it. With out those three syllables, the first line would break the flow of the rest of the piece.

the thing is that semisweet sounds too... no better word than "scientific" comes to mind. the preposition semi- just has too scientific and rigid connotations for me, see what i mean?

well how about bittersweet?

it flows nicely into the "bitter" repetition on the next line and it has the same amount of syllables and supposedly the same meaning

but... it's your poem, so

Ah but bittersweet falls too easily into the realm of overused clichés. The connection with bitter in the second line is implicit (I think) given that it is one of the first things you think of when describing dark chocolate.

haha, criticising the critique!

Also, feel free to critique. I normally only get good things, I feel people a scared to criticize my work, as if it would hurt my feelings. I'm afraid to share my favorite works for fear of someone stealing it. Not that I think I'm good, it's just other people suck and like to jack shit because its easier than being creative. It's happened before in a band setting and left me with a bad taste in my mouth.

Here's two other short ones:

Untitled-

I shot at the sky above you
And it fell on top of me
Clouds were once made of dreams
But now their memories



Roots-

I am everyone I’ve ever known.
Nothing that you hear or see is my own.
What you see are those before me.
Watch closely as i absorb you slowly.

psychedelicrelic wrote:Roots-

I am everyone I’ve ever known.
Nothing that you hear or see is my own.
What you see are those before me.
Watch closely as i absorb you slowly.

I quite like this one. Especially the last line.

I have no Cure for you
And yes it's nice that
you disslike Cure
but
I have no Cure
and I never did.
But you ask
again and again
you like Cure?
No why do you ask?
When you say you hate Cure.
You just seem like someone...
they always say...
so by one look
judgement
catagorized
labled
boxed
As a devotee of Smith
WHY?
I just seem that way?
What way?
what ways?
what sould it matter?
in the end of things
why should you even care
If I like Cure?
IS it just because you want,
want to find a connection
but
if this is so then why something
you say you disslike?
Because
you asume that
I like a thing you don't
which makes me wonder
did you come of a arguement
and if my not liking what
you thought I did
and wanted to argue about
stops the beginnings of
a good arguement
then are you happy or sad
that what you thought
was for nothing?

goroth wrote:Ah but bittersweet falls too easily into the realm of overused clichés. The connection with bitter in the second line is implicit (I think) given that it is one of the first things you think of when describing dark chocolate.

haha, criticising the critique!

but how do you know he's describing dark chocolate, you know it might be a cliché though, yeah... i'd just write it differently, that's all

i absolutely love this though

psychedelicrelic wrote:Roots-

I am everyone I’ve ever known.
Nothing that you hear or see is my own.
What you see are those before me.
Watch closely as i absorb you slowly.

especially the rhythm, a feature i sometimes really miss in poems, is very nice

What is the end of a weekend
that time of night
you are not alright
back to the grind you bend
you feel numb
turning dumb
the hours you will spend
all is lame
all is same
your free time is at a end

DarkAxel wrote:but how do you know he's describing dark chocolate, you know it might be a cliché though, yeah... i'd just write it differently, that's all

Milk chocolate isn't real chocolate. 70% plus FTW!

wrote this whenever I got bored in school. so most of the day.

Sleeping Pills

I lay down in my bed to begin another night of frustration and sleeplessness. I stared blankly at the pale white ceiling. The white lines of the drywall seemed to stand out more than usual. There were a million things going through my mind but I couldn’t seem to grasp a single one. I tried relaxing and closing my eyes, but I couldn’t keep my eyes shut and my legs were restless. I snatched the TV remote off of the end table and turned on the TV. The screen flickered and the room was soon filled with the soft glow of the TV’s light. I turned on infomercials so I wouldn't get too attached to the TV. The first infomercial was for a ‘revolutionary’ new line of cosmetics. The spokeswoman for the company was pointing out the imperfections on various women. She then went on talking about how their ‘miracle’ cream and makeup could solve all of their problems. The before and after pictures seemed almost surreal. They didn’t even look like the same person. It was disgusting. Preying on women’s insecurities to make money. The next infomercial was for a male enhancement pill. There were a series of beautiful women talking about how much sized mattered and telling, what I assumed to be, made up stories about how they laughed and rejected men as soon as he pulled down his trousers and undergarments. The main spokeswoman, a beautiful, skinny, and busty brunette began talking about the five things that all women look for in a man is size, size, size, size, and size. Those were the top five things all women look for. Not personality, intelligence, good looks, or even money. Just size, size, size, size, and size. It was the shallowest thing I had ever heard. It amazed me that in a span of 30 minutes these companies managed to make thousands of men and women feel insecure. It almost made me physically ill. I shut off the TV and continued staring blankly at the ceiling. I was overwhelmed by feelings of hate, depression and self-consciousness. I went downstairs to numb my mind, body and emotions. I grabbed the vodka bottle and a shot glass out of the cabinet and three beers out of the fridge. I poured three shots into an empty glass and swallowed it. I chased it down with one of the beers. I took the remaining two beers upstairs I climbed back into my bed. I slowly drank the rest of the beer silently in the lonely darkness. I started to feel the effects of the alcohol. The warm, drunken euphoria began spreading throughout my body. The alcohol didn't help. It just intensified my depression and added fuel to my burning hate. The millions of thoughts came back in violent streams. I can’t begin to explain the way I felt. The feelings of hate, depression and self-consciousness came back. Along with a feeling of isolation, sorrow, and self-hate. I clenched my hair in my fists and brought my knees up to my chest. I couldn't stop moving. I sat there and rocked back and forth for a while trying to get my head around what was happening. Violent waves of feelings and emotions began crashing over me until I was drowning. I quickly stood up and grabbed an empty beer bottle and sent it across the room. It hit the opposite wall with a crash, and shattered. Then I threw my fist at the wall. It went through the brittle drywall with a loud bang. I ripped my hand out of the wall and sat back down on my bed. For no reason at all I began to sob uncontrollably for a good 20 minutes. Once I pulled myself together, I started to think. I had no idea what to make of it. I looked the pieces of dark brown glass scattered throughout the room and stared at my bloody fist. I looked over at the side table and saw the two small orange prescription bottles. I grabbed the one on the right and stared at the label. Ambien. I poured the contents of the bottle in the palm of my hand and stared at them. I counted out the pills. 23. I threw the fistful of pills into my mouth and washed them down with the last few foamy swigs of beer. I dropped the two empty bottles on the floor and spread out on my back across the bed. I crossed my arms across my chest and stared at the ceiling. I was thinking about everything, then nothing at all. I was finally able to sleep.

also

A Haiku

The moon shines brightly
Throughout the snow covered wood
As I softly glow

nieh wrote:wrote this whenever I got bored in school. so most of the day.

Sleeping Pills

I lay down in my bed to begin another night of frustration and sleeplessness. I stared blankly at the pale white ceiling. The white lines of the drywall seemed to stand out more than usual. There were a million things going through my mind but I couldn’t seem to grasp a single one. I tried relaxing and closing my eyes, but I couldn’t keep my eyes shut and my legs were restless. I snatched the TV remote off of the end table and turned on the TV. The screen flickered and the room was soon filled with the soft glow of the TV’s light. I turned on infomercials so I wouldn't get too attached to the TV. The first infomercial was for a ‘revolutionary’ new line of cosmetics. The spokeswoman for the company was pointing out the imperfections on various women. She then went on talking about how their ‘miracle’ cream and makeup could solve all of their problems. The before and after pictures seemed almost surreal. They didn’t even look like the same person. It was disgusting. Preying on women’s insecurities to make money. The next infomercial was for a male enhancement pill. There were a series of beautiful women talking about how much sized mattered and telling, what I assumed to be, made up stories about how they laughed and rejected men as soon as he pulled down his trousers and undergarments. The main spokeswoman, a beautiful, skinny, and busty brunette began talking about the five things that all women look for in a man is size, size, size, size, and size. Those were the top five things all women look for. Not personality, intelligence, good looks, or even money. Just size, size, size, size, and size. It was the shallowest thing I had ever heard. It amazed me that in a span of 30 minutes these companies managed to make thousands of men and women feel insecure. It almost made me physically ill. I shut off the TV and continued staring blankly at the ceiling. I was overwhelmed by feelings of hate, depression and self-consciousness. I went downstairs to numb my mind, body and emotions. I grabbed the vodka bottle and a shot glass out of the cabinet and three beers out of the fridge. I poured three shots into an empty glass and swallowed it. I chased it down with one of the beers. I took the remaining two beers upstairs I climbed back into my bed. I slowly drank the rest of the beer silently in the lonely darkness. I started to feel the effects of the alcohol. The warm, drunken euphoria began spreading throughout my body. The alcohol didn't help. It just intensified my depression and added fuel to my burning hate. The millions of thoughts came back in violent streams. I can’t begin to explain the way I felt. The feelings of hate, depression and self-consciousness came back. Along with a feeling of isolation, sorrow, and self-hate. I clenched my hair in my fists and brought my knees up to my chest. I couldn't stop moving. I sat there and rocked back and forth for a while trying to get my head around what was happening. Violent waves of feelings and emotions began crashing over me until I was drowning. I quickly stood up and grabbed an empty beer bottle and sent it across the room. It hit the opposite wall with a crash, and shattered. Then I threw my fist at the wall. It went through the brittle drywall with a loud bang. I ripped my hand out of the wall and sat back down on my bed. For no reason at all I began to sob uncontrollably for a good 20 minutes. Once I pulled myself together, I started to think. I had no idea what to make of it. I looked the pieces of dark brown glass scattered throughout the room and stared at my bloody fist. I looked over at the side table and saw the two small orange prescription bottles. I grabbed the one on the right and stared at the label. Ambien. I poured the contents of the bottle in the palm of my hand and stared at them. I counted out the pills. 23. I threw the fistful of pills into my mouth and washed them down with the last few foamy swigs of beer. I dropped the two empty bottles on the floor and spread out on my back across the bed. I crossed my arms across my chest and stared at the ceiling. I was thinking about everything, then nothing at all. I was finally able to sleep.

I was reading this. I realized. I saw every sentence starting with I.

Just sayin'.

psychedelicrelic wrote:Also, feel free to critique. I normally only get good things, I feel people a scared to criticize my work, as if it would hurt my feelings. I'm afraid to share my favorite works for fear of someone stealing it. Not that I think I'm good, it's just other people suck and like to jack shit because its easier than being creative. It's happened before in a band setting and left me with a bad taste in my mouth.

Here's two other short ones:

Untitled-

I shot at the sky above you
And it fell on top of me
Clouds were once made of dreams
But now their memories



Roots-

I am everyone I’ve ever known.
Nothing that you hear or see is my own.
What you see are those before me.
Watch closely as i absorb you slowly.

No one is going to steal a poem that uses "their" instead of "they're" unless they're (not their) a moron.

D.o.S. wrote:No one is going to steal a poem that uses "their" instead of "they're" unless they're (not their) a moron.

People don't make mistakes...that's not something happens in the real world. Every one is perfect and does everything right all the time! I mean, how were you supposed to understand what I was writing with that mistake? It makes the entire piece incomprehensible! Thanks for the critique!