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View Full Version : Psychological Ownership - FF, Prose, Poetry - 600words



kbsmith
June 22nd, 2015, 09:32 PM
PSYCHOLOGICAL OWNERSHIP of time or space or ideas and information.

I exist inside a world of a billion little balls tied together with strings, bounding and bouncing off each other in a spherical field around me.

The strings hold them together when they touch, and pull tension on each other in severity of thickness likened to syrup.
Pull away quickly and sling it around, pull away slowly to string it out.

The playful concession of his thoughts running outside his mind is circular motion.


He reaches out to grab them but the words he reaches for are not tangible. Rather, they become pieces of his consciousness. They dodge his grasp and everything scrambles. His thoughts maintain constant flux that re-organizes with every unsuccessful grasp at the ideas stringing wildly around him.
Wired into each other at the top. Untouchable above him: the next plane, the fourth dimension, and the fifth.

I could have no longer meant that the Pillow was empty, because the one beside me is also filled.

The chaotic structure of the electrical currents, rushing full-bore through any open pathway, mirrors his everyday.

Twasa reasonable excuse afore the curiousity of my behaviour: These stupid things I think about the things I do. But, I do them because I think them when the opportunity presents itself. With no other options at the juncture of decision, an action, a thought, is necessary, but I choose only from the limited palette that strings around my head. Grasping at one, it becomes the means by which I grasp for the next, and so I have continued in this manner for my entire life.
For the past five days I have not slept at day and waked at night into the morning, and for the two days before that I did not sleep at all.

In some picklv weight, It became the dymnention of the future. Here I could no longer separate what was past, was present, was always the future.
In those days we learned as much from robotics as it learned from us, as though our children would breed the ones that ate them.

Instead, our children became them. With an itching numbing sensational feeling of attachment risen up in the walls that surrounded the buildings of our civilizations and our cultured habits, we went to war against ourselves.
My home. My place. Not yours.

I own the things I interact with because I have created them, and they have created me! With each reach into the static succession of surrounding choices, I am further embedded into the path that I choose to grasp.

And yet, nothing ever changes from sidewalk to street to the top of the mountains.
I am the same person, everywhere.

So it is; we just bloom and bloom and blossom in red cauliflower explosions all over the earth. Humanity is barbaric. The human age extinct: I am the failure of a billion years, thus is born success.

Eyebrows and lumps and crooked jaws like an elephant-born man is the earth.
Your sentience is time itself, because of the connections that exist within its mortality.
While all else remains frozen, merely output of input, I move boldly with freedom to choose my input, thus produce my output.
But, my output is limited to my optional input.
The spherical bodies tied together with strings resonate through the space around their small portion of the universe, feeling special. But are they?

Are we a mold on the earth? A cancer or a horde of rats?
Are we a current of connections and life? Or a rare blossoming flower in the universal springtime?
Maybe. Am I just bat-shit insane? Stepping further from my sanity with every attempt to take hold the future.

auntiebetty
June 23rd, 2015, 08:50 PM
You started off in first person. In third paragraph you switched to second person. Write in first person, I. Or in second person, He.
The bouncing balls, running circular motions are within you--not you within them. The mind reaches to grab them (WORDS) not balls. Substitute the word "word" for "balls." This is essay starts out being about how words circulate in your brain in a circulate motion as though they are on syrupy strings. I get the idea, but the presentation needs major rewrite.

I skipped the middle and went straight to the end where I saw what appears to be stream-of-conciousness, which I usually love and understand. However, in an essay, when I read questions at the end where I should be reading conclusions, I get turned off. An essay should conclude. And, if you want to conclude with questions, make sure the comparisons make sense: a cancer or a horde of rats!

Please take every comment you receive into careful consideration and rewrite. You have received enough reads to have received several comments. I think those who opened your piece, left after reading a few sentences. I hope some new readers might take the time to be as constructive as their abilities permit.

Keep working at it.

kbsmith
June 24th, 2015, 01:15 AM
Thank you so much for your feedback!
I seem to struggle between his and my points of view.

It can be hard to differentiate for us, as well.

After all, the playful concession ofMy thoughts circulated around and within my mind like a paint or a glow. The paint itself is red, the glow itself is read, and yields its red to all that it lights upon (the circulation of my thoughts).

I assume it failed because the writing is ambiguous, archaic, and unclear. It refuses to take a stance or to reveal any relevant information. But, it provides an escapist release from life unwanted, a life made by every thought, even when those thoughts are beyond control. If the things I think are passed down from a location or a family or a government or a church, then I am not truly free. I remain bound to the billions and millions of others that came before me, and stake claim on their discoveries as my birthright.

I do this by choosing thoughts to think, by merely being human. Biological determinism means my writing, however bad, will be better than any writing by a bird, monkey, dog, or cat.

In conclusion: I believe the only necessary portions of an essay are the introductions and the conclusions, while the body exists only to strengthen the tone and impact of the two. In this case, it's a grandiose concept with very little explanation. Pretentious throughout and probably ignorant. Meant to be a springboard for creative response, and which inspired one: an utter failure? Naught to be! For even one soul is worth an hundred more.

TKent
June 24th, 2015, 02:01 AM
Hey KBSmith,

I think this has a great deal of potential. There are some fine pieces of prose in this piece! These three sections just rolled off my tongue and tickled my brain in a very pleasant way. "...itching numbing sensational..." needs commas.


In those days we learned as much from robotics as it learned from us, as though our children would breed the ones that ate them.

Instead, our children became them. With an itching numbing sensational feeling of attachment risen up in the walls that surrounded the buildings of our civilizations and our cultured habits, we went to war against ourselves.

My home. My place. Not yours.

I own the things I interact with because I have created them, and they have created me! With each reach into the static succession of surrounding choices, I am further embedded into the path that I choose to grasp.

And yet, nothing ever changes from sidewalk to street to the top of the mountains.

I am the same person, everywhere.

This did not flow for me. I'd suggest finding a better way to say it (but that's just me):


pull tension on each other in severity of thickness likened to syrup.

I'm a very literal person, so not the best to be giving feedback on this kind of piece. Ambiguous endings are not my forte. And yet some of my favorite works have ambiguous endings even though they drive me up a wall.

Although I didn't fully follow it, I did think you captured a very distinct feeling/tone with your choices that was fitting. I also didn't see any issues with it ending with questions.

I was confused with the alternating POVs. Not because I have an issue with alternating POVs, I just wasn't able to follow the hops, nor understand the purpose for them clearly. I've often seen these done with one POV always in italics and the other in regular font. I might suggest that here. Although you may have and it got lost when you pasted. (2 short stories in alternating POVs that are my favorites are: Kelly Link's "Carnation, Lily, Lily Rose" and A. Merc Rustad's "The Sorcerer's Unattainable Gardens. (http://dailysciencefiction.com/fantasy/magic-and-wizardry/a-merc-rustad/the-sorcerers-unattainable-gardens)" The second one I've included a link in case you are interested in seeing how easy it is to follow the POVs simply by the italics vs. non-italics.)

So in summary, very interesting work. Some gems in the prose. But could definitely be improved with some tweaking!

Hope something in this rambling helps :)

kbsmith
June 28th, 2015, 12:56 AM
Thank you so much for your feedback!
It is an attempt at capturing a half-poetic prose brainstorm. Written over the course of a week, edited nightly until satisfied to be posted.
If we believe it is worth further growth, then I will continue to elaborate. Though my writing at length can cause headaches and/or nausea.

Tis far from the riveting prose fiction of such great imaginations as Saul Bellow, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, or Don DeLillo.
Inside the "The Sorcerer's Unattainable Gardens" is a person sitting at a computer, typing the words that surround him in fortress and solitude. I felt attached to the story, which I found imaginative and disconnected from me like a long shadow of some distant loss made mine.

The words are coated in a viscous liquid plasma that holds them together like a saliva or syrup, electrified. They string out as they stretch apart after collision, sometimes pulling back with elasticity, sometimes they repel: disconnect quickly and sling webs out to other words. The perpetual motion machination acts as an engine to his actions, fueling the present tense with electric, neural magnetism.
Soon to be perfected, advanced by the advent of a more efficient machine: A super intelligence.

I enjoy opposing POV in that it presents a sort of ambient atmosphere rather than a specific set of chronological actions. This could be accounted for as laziness or even an indecisive quality of the writing, but I really appreciate your idea to use italics to separate voices. I may attempt to use color in the future, that way I can still reserve italics and boldness for further depth of personality and imagery.

Psychotic rambling is my favorite method of commune cat ion. :icon_shaking2:

escorial
June 28th, 2015, 01:21 AM
only you can live in your world man....write it down and see what happens