Please. - Writers Forum

Voodoo · 07-07-2007, 12:25 AM

Too many tears, the bad part about loving someone, or wanting to love them. Always, moisture stinging, staining your vision. Happy, sad, furious. Always weeping from some emoting parasite in your brain, pissing out your eyes.

It feels good, to cry, like picking your bleeding gums, suckling on the sweet fluid sof a tear. Sometimes, it's not so pleasant, morbid, you rip out that tooth to burn the infection.

Killing yourself in a mirror. Your blood sluicing down the pane like a fresh soda, reflecting back your suicide. A suicide you foster daily, in tears and love. It's a grand brother with an addiction, a gritty bitch with money. Many things, all coveting pain, worse than.

Is many, like many, still a disservice to compare. Formless as water, you bleed so tropic a soul through those blue eyed wonders. No one can understand even their own, no other's, try they might and met with brick.

It even leaves you shivering, shining. Bad sex, bad love with good traits and silk mistress, it's just hell, hell with you. Luck to be rid of it, riddance to the irony that you can't live without it. With nothing but, just artificial air cycling in your red tears, fueling that stream to die another day.

Worse yet, you cry when smile. Smile in that rapping mirror to find the simple sake of cleansing, burning that germ until it lies on your eyelids.

A hug feels better than nothing, but a drop of glamour, the rare kernel that streams the electric filament, that is tears. That's a medication like no other.

I cried when I died and still drew misery. I thought death brought relief. Avarice was supposed to pass along with me, but it lived longer still. Peculiar that I still have to pay my rent with a silly textile stain taken from my rusted heart. Shelter not in a cosmos, but in a small apartment weeping filth from its walls.

I wish I'd died forever, instead of this timely wait. Sorrow is an unjust placation, a bitter seed biting your tongue.

My face is redder than ever, and I still have my mirrors, my tears. And that burning sore I can't quite soothe, asking me to kill it with hands I don't have. Pity devastation that I wish would rise, in boils I could lance. This hurt, this parasite is a ghost I can only kill by feeding it. Abrasive mothers laying spread legged in your skull, inviting acid wash.

In the end, it gives me a clean peace and my returned apologies.

Cheer up, folks.

~Kouryuu~ · 07-07-2007, 12:41 AM

Deep. I kinda wish and dont wish I had your mind at the same time...

Quote:

fueling that stream to die another day.

*shudders a little*

Voodoo · 07-07-2007, 12:42 AM

...did you just call me an adolescent depressive?

~Kouryuu~ · 07-07-2007, 12:44 AM

Um... No.

Cold Twilight · 07-07-2007, 01:32 AM

....Hmmmm. Very interesting...

You have very good visuals and some sounds... Good prose.

lol.

IrishLad · 07-07-2007, 04:01 AM

I personally think you are on the verge of turning into an extremely talented writer, GV. Considering your age, you have a tremendous grasp of vocabulary and its use.

That said, and looking at only the writing and not the story, it needs some variety in sentence structure. It reads like a poem... no, more like a letter to one's own mind, which is fine but also makes it abstract.

It's unconventional, as mainstream stories go, but there's something to be said for blazing your own path. The comma use is excessive, though I know that is your style. Still it detracts from the read at times. I"m a commaholic myself.

As far as story... well, the only character is the narrator and not much actually happens, but still I think that is fine. It evokes emotion, and for most people, I believe that is the reason for reading.
There are other ways to explore writing, besides the traditional. Good to see someone is willing.

Hope this helps,
Cheers

Voodoo · 07-07-2007, 04:04 AM

Irishlad, thank you very much for doing this when I asked.

Comma use is a habit to break... better than marijuana.

My style isn't really a style yet, just a preference. I've not come into my own...

Thanks again.

biggles · 07-07-2007, 05:02 AM

This line :
"Peculiar that I still have to pay my rent with a silly textile stain taken from my rusted heart."
is my favourite.

I don't care what age you are because this is fucking good!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It is inspiring and music in motion.

Voodoo · 07-07-2007, 09:08 AM

Thank you biggles!

Crazy_dude6662 · 07-07-2007, 10:30 AM

i liked it, i thought i sounded quite lyrical in parts.
i really cant think what else to say about it, its just...good is the best word i can think of, maybe i will be able to think of a better word later.

Voodoo · 07-07-2007, 10:32 AM

Lottery of praise
I want a negative cheer.

Azmakna · 07-07-2007, 11:00 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by German Voodoo

Too many tears, the bad part about loving someone, or wanting to love them. Always, moisture stinging, staining your vision. Happy, sad, furious. Always weeping from some emoting parasite in your brain, pissing out your eyes.

that is an incredible first paragraph Voodoo.

It feels good, even to cry, like picking your bleeding gums, suckling on the sweet fluid seeping through a tear. Sometimes, it's not so pleasant, morbid, you rip out that tooth to burn the infection.

lose this for impact. simlify this: 'of a tear.'

Killing yourself in a mirror. Your blood sluicing down the pane like a fresh soda, reflecting back your suicide. A suicide you foster daily, in tears and love. It's a grand brother with an addiction, a gritty bitch with money. Many things, all coveting pain, worse than.

many are going to tell you that this is purple prose. take what they say as truth, but realise that this is a stage you need to burst through. quit the poetry for a while and write short stories. this is incredible vibrant writing. by all means be pretentious, unleash those words.

Is many, like many, still a disservice to compare. Formless as water, you bleed so tropic a soul through those blue eyed wonders. No one can understand even their own, no other's, try they might and met with brick.

It even leaves you shivering, shining. Bad sex, bad love with good traits and silk mistress, it's just hell, hell with you. Luck to be rid of it, riddance to the irony that you can't live without it. With nothing but, just artificial air cycling in your red tears, fueling that stream to die another day.

incredible sentence structure in your work. you are a very advanced 15 year old, that is certain.

Worse yet, you cry when (you) smile. Smile in that rapping mirror to find the simple sake of cleansing, burning that germ until it lies on your eyelids.

don't worry about the repetition, it works here. too poetic
A hug feels better than nothing, but a little gem glamour, a find in a sand dune, the rare kernel that streams the filament, that is tears. That's a medication like no other, a trickling on a broken circle.

you are beginning to try too hard. simplify, but using the style from above

I cried when I died and still drew misery. I thought death brought relief. Avarice was supposed to pass along with me, but it lived longer still. Peculiar that I still have to pay my rent with a silly textile stain taken from my rusted heart. Shelter not in a cosmos, but in a small apartment weeping filth from its walls.

I wish I'd died forever, instead of this timely wait. Sorrow is an unjust placation, a bitter seed biting your tongue.

My face is redder than ever, and I still have my mirrors, my tears. And that burning sore I can't quite soothe, asking me to kill it with hands I don't have. Pity devastation that I wish would rise, in boils I could lance. This hurt, this parasite is a ghost I can only kill by feeding it. Abrasive mothers laying spread legged in your skull, inviting acid wash.

In the end, it gives me a clean peace and my returned apologies.

Cheer up, folks.

my word fella! what can i say. between you flying with your words and poster bringing you to earth with critique, you will develop a style that will almost certainly see you published somewhere, sometime. for those that tell you it's overwritten, indulgent and purple, say 'yes, i know it's not perfect, but it will be, thank you for helping.' great work

Voodoo · 07-07-2007, 11:04 AM

Thank you, Az. As always, I appreciate your time.

I'll fix those couple of mistakes you saw, but as for ourple prose- that's my middle name.

I like both simple and "purple" prose, but I suppose one is frowned upon.

I'm moody...

Thank you for your encouragement, I needed it. I write better at three in the morning than in the daytime.

thanks buddy.

Azmakna · 07-07-2007, 11:08 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by German Voodoo

Thank you, Az. As always, I appreciate your time.

I'll fix those couple of mistakes you saw, but as for ourple prose- that's my middle name.

I like both simple and "purple" prose, but I suppose one is frowned upon.

I'm moody...

Thank you for your encouragement, I needed it. I write better at three in the morning than in the daytime.

thanks buddy.

don't avoid purple prose, just realize that it's a place you don't want to hang around in for any great length of time. don't make excuses to yourself here, accept responsibility of the writing, good and bad. this is were you make the all important step and start to see what is.

Voodoo · 07-07-2007, 11:10 AM

Nostalgia was that, and I'd thought it was good. My my, it wasn't.

I don't know, mate. A few people said I have clear prose when i try, and a woman told me she wanted to make lover after reading something purple.