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Writing 2.0 Feb. 1st, 2010 @ 04:07 AM Reply

I thought I would get a thread started for my writings. My styles vary with my mood, but mostly I write short stories on different topics. Feel free to critique and comment on anything I post, it helps me improve my writing.

I'm going to start off by posting a few things I've wrote in a couple other threads, because I would still like to get some comments on them before they get buried and forgotten in the lounge and idea threads.

First up: a short "anti-fan-fic" I wrote about the new Star Trek movie. This was originally posted in the writing lounge. This story takes place in the Vulcan Science Academy council chambers when --**SPOILER ALERT SKIP DOWN**-- Spock reveals his plan to save planet Romulus:

It's Logical: Spock is a Douche
"As you know, the galaxy is being threatened by a super-nova, And planet Romulus is directly in it's path." Ambassador Spock said, looking around the meeting room at other members of the council. Pressing a button on the table before him a holographic projection filled the air with an exploding star and a small planet directly in it's path. "My plan is to take our fastest ship, and create a black hole, absorbing the impact, and saving Romulus from certian destruction."

The assembled council looked around at each other, then finally one of them spoke.

"Seriously Spock? Are you fucking retarded?"

Spock, sudden started looking slightly emotional, maybe startled, maybe constipated. "But I assure you I've-"

"No, no, no, no. Listen hear dumbass, you are just trying to be a douchebag and we all know it. You're dropping a black hole near a planet to 'save it'? That's like stuffing your wife's body down the garbage disposal so she can't lose her ring in the drain anymore. You just want to destroy their planet a split second before the universe does."

"And even if your plan does work, their star is exploding! You'll be saving them from instant fiery death, just so they can die slow cold ones. You sick bastard!"

"Look, I get it, Romulans are bald jerks! We all think that! But we are not letting you race off to the edges of the universe with a bajillion Vulcan Funbucks worth of equipment, just so you can give these guys the finger. You're just going to have to sit here like the rest of us, and point and laugh thru a telescope."

Utterly defeated, Spock excused himself to go to the bathroom, where he was found 3 hours later, dead from a massive coke overdose.

~Fin~
--**END SPOILER**--

This is also from the lounge. I took a shot at writing some poetry, I only have 1 verse, but I might expand on it:

A pound, a pence, a penny, a dime
might I have, sir, some of your time?
A lady you see, a friend to me,
she frollicks now with my enemy
I hate it so, to let you know
And now I've planned a crime.

It was/is going to be a story about a man trying to ask another man in an alley to kill the boyfriend of a girl he wants. But he has an extremely convoluted and ridiculous plan for the assasination. I wrote this first verse out in like 10 minutes, but I don't feel like struggling with it anymore tonight. If enough people think it's a good start, I'll probably pick it back up very soon tho.

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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 1st, 2010 @ 04:11 AM Reply

Version's writing baked > Universe

cant wait to see what else you come up with


Nateofwar owns your mother

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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 1st, 2010 @ 04:22 AM Reply

This was originally posted in the "just an idea thread" thread. I have a timeline in that thread as well, and this is the first of whats going to be a "Ray Bradbury - Martian Chronicles"-type collection of short stories. The overall arc of the stories are going to cover the future evolution of mankind as technology advances at a rapid rate. Go here to read the timeline if you would like to know more.

In 2015, MIT researchers record the first human thoughts, directly from a brain to a harddrive

"Are you ready?"

Each word hit Nancy Carigan like a bullet. Of course she wasn't ready, who could ever be ready for something like thi-

"Deep breaths, Nancy. Just take a deep breath." She forced the thought to the front of her mind, concentrating on nothing else. Slowly inhaling, she felt the fear start to clench her chest. She felt the panic rising in her throat, and her lungs restricting. And then it passed, her chest loosening. A calm came with a deep breath of air, and as she exhaled she relaxed.

"There's nothing to be worried about, the dangerous part is over. Think calm." She inhaled again. The surgery had been the first of it's kind. Researchers had been experimenting with liquid silicon silk and rats brains for years, but Nancy was the first human to undergo the procedure.

Exhale. She thought back to that day. Laying on the operating table, fully awake, as a neurosurgeon removed the top of her skull and overlaid the circuits that her team had designed into the folds of her brain. The sensation was... novel. She could not control the twitching of her facial muscles for the entire 3 hour surgery. One minute, she was the happiest she had ever been in her life, and then the surgeon would attend to another fold of grey matter, and instant depression would set in. At one point she felt she was hungry, full, wet, and jealous of one of the nurses all at the same time.

She remembered how relieved she was when it was finally over. She had thought she might actually go insane from the operation, but then it was just over, like a bad dream that quickly fades. The dangerous part was over.

She remembered the first time she looked in the mirror after the surgery. Her bald head had a red line circling the top, dotted with staples. Behind her left ear was a small transdermal implant, with a usb port directly in the center of it. In her eyes, it was the most beautiful site she had ever seen.

30 days later She sat, breathing deeply, with a usb cord inserted in her implant. A soft fuzz of blonde hair hid her scars.

"I'm ready."

"Alright, connecting in 3 - 2 - 1" Nancy's lead assitant, Dan, flipped the kill switch to on. It was built into the cord so they could instantly sever direct connection to Nancy's wetware in case anything went wrong.

"How are you?" Tom, her husband, asked. He was a history teacher, but she needed him there. His support was just as important to her as the most advanced brain activity rendering algorithms that her team had created. "It tingles a little, all over my body." She replied. He put a comfoting hand on her shoulder, and she gave him a soft smile.

"The program is loaded Nancy, I'm ready when you are." Dan said, one hand hovering over the keyboard, the other resting close to the killswitch. His eyes were alert and focused behind his glasses. Nancy closed her eyes. She started to form a picture in her mind. "Start."

Dan tapped a key on the keyboard and watched output stream across one of his monitors, the other monitor remaining black. As he spotted a tibbit of information here, and a pattern emerging there his fingers flew across the keyboard. "This is amazing." he whispered, eyes wide. He let the ticking of fingers on keys speak for him for a while.

Nancy refined the picture in her minds eye. An apple tree with long branches and thick lush leafs, providing shade for a man who sat writing with a quill and parchment underneath. His shirt was blue, his wig was powdered, his collar ruffled, his fingernails trimmed, his brow furrowed. Every single last detail she could think of.

She scrunched her eyes tightly shut and concentrated deeply on the details of the tree bark, the gust of wind gently rocking the branches. She thought of an apple rocking just a touch to far, it's stem separating cleanly from the branch, starting to-

"Oh, my, God." Dan said, mouth hanging open.

Nancy opened her eyes in time to see a red apple, shining in the light, falling and lazily spinning thru the air to collide with Isaac Newton's head. She was dumbstruck, and the monitor showed it by turning black again.

Shocked, she turned to her husband. "It worked?" Tom smiled back at her "It worked."

Accomplishment slowly set in on Nancy. It worked. The first inklings of excitement and adrenaline worked their way into her system. Everything she had set out to accomplish, it all happened. Time slowed to a halt. It was all possible, and she had done it.

"IT WORKED!" she yelled jumping out of her chair and into her husbands arms. Caught in the moment, she wrapped around his neck and kissed him firmly, as he kissed her.

Dan sat transfixed at the monitor, never taking his eyes off it. "So that's what love looks like."

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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 1st, 2010 @ 04:23 AM Reply

At 2/1/10 04:11 AM, Nateofwar wrote:
Version's writing baked > Universe
cant wait to see what else you come up with

Lol, thanks

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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 1st, 2010 @ 06:01 AM Reply

I really enjoyed writing that Star Trek piece so I wrote another. Earlier today I was watching the neighbors kids, and they had The Little Mermaid playing for about the billionth time. I love that movie, but that's because I have the original version that has the penis on the cover and the priest boner in the wedding scene lol.

If you don't know the story of The Little Mermaid, uh, too bad I guess?

The Little Mermaid - 2.0

Ariel knew she shouldn't be signing contracts with sea-witches but, shit man! Who the hell meets somebody then starts spontaneously singing for six minutes trying to sell... what was she selling again? Ursala's singing was like nails on the chalkboard of Ariels brain. It was disorienting and confusing.

Oh yeah! It was about her inter-species erotica issues. Daddy Triton would never understand, it wasn't like she wanted to be one of those girls in the gulf coast, getting rammed by sea-horses on stage. She just wanted to experiment a little. She had finally graduated Fish School and wanted to have fun this summer before going to Fish University. Besides, she thought to herself, Human penises are bigger than fish dicks, and not as creepy as dolphin dongs.

Fun was not listening to this harpy shriek! And she would do anything to make it stop. Sensing this, Ursala conjured a contract and quill into existance. Clenching her eyes tight from the pain of Ursala's screeches, Ariel put quill to parchment and signed her name. It's over. It's finally over.

But it wasn't over! THE BITCH KEPT SINGING! Ariel, dazed and confused from the witches sonic assault, could feel her mind breaking. What did Ursala want? Why wouldn't she just shut the hell up?

"Now... SING!" growled Ursala.

And Ariel did as she was told. Anything to stop the demon screams coming from the fat hags throat! Besides, if she gave Ursala her voice, and she spontaneously started singing again, at least it would be pleasant to listen to.

Ghost hands lifted from Ursalas dark caldrun, and rammed themselves down Ariels throat mid-note. As they retreated from her mouth, they carried her voice. It was strange to see it as a glowing orb in front of her and singing on it's own. But Ariel was much more concerned with the fact that Ursala had ceased singing, the flood of pain finally stopping.

When sea witch caught her prize in a seashell locket, she wrapped the dumb mermaid in a bubble of dark magic. She couldn't help herself, maybe it was the villianess in her, but she couldn't keep down her maniacal laughter as she watched the transformation.

It was odd for Ariel. One second she had a fin, the next, she had these two little stick things. She wiggled them around but found that they didn't move her thru the water very fast. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something about this was bad. A second later, when she took a breath to think about it, she had the curious sensation of molten fire being dripped into her lungs.

Oh yeah... Humans breath air.

Panicking Ariel flailed for the surface. She knew she needed air, and here she was at the bottom of the ocean! She barely noticed her life long friend Flounder, and the ambassador to the king Sebastian when they took her under her shoulders and helped propel her towards the surface. She kicked as hard as she could, fighting for ascension. The surface was coming closer and closer, and she knew she was going to make it! Thank god for lackeys!

But something was wrong. Her joints hurt. She itched all over. It almost felt like bubbles were painfully bursting everywhere in her body. Her head was spinning. After what seemed like an eternity, she broke the surface and gulped in lungfuls of air.

But even tho she could breath, spots still swam before her eyes. She vaguely realized that she was being dragged onto shore. A crab grabbed her face, who was this guy? His lips were moving frantically like he was shouting at her, but she couldn't hear anything but a high pitched ringing. She was so confused, she couldn't remember why she was here.

Ariel coughed and her lungs burned like the devil. She was breathing air now! Why did it still hurt? Her stomach did a backflip, and she rolled over to vomit in the sand. She tried to roll over to get to her knees, but she lost balance and toppled over into her puke puddle. The world swam as the cold blackness envoloped her.

A week later, an obituary in a local Copenhagen blotter mentioned in passing that an anonymous red haired woman was found dead on the beach. An autopsy performed revealed that she had died from a most mysterious case of decompression sickness.

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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 1st, 2010 @ 07:40 PM Reply

moar:

A pound, a pence, a penny, a dime
might I have, sir, some of your time?
A lady you see, a friend to me,
she frollicks now with my enemy
I hate it so, to let you know
And now I've planned a crime.

at three AM you'll bash in his door,
and head up the stairs to bash him some more
but not to death, for that would be rude
for when he's out, you'll strip him nude,
put him in a sack, make sure it's black
and meet me by the shore.

Oh great, now I've got a naked unconscious dude in a bag at the shore... what should I do now...

Honestly I'm not to thrilled with the second verse, I might just rewrite... later.

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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 1st, 2010 @ 08:00 PM Reply

The little mermaid 2.0 <== What really happened.

Made me laugh a good amount as well, you add such a twisted spin to the tales.


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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 1st, 2010 @ 08:08 PM Reply

Lol glad you liked it

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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 1st, 2010 @ 08:09 PM Reply

At 2/1/10 08:08 PM, Version2 wrote: Lol glad you liked it

I'm glad you're glad I liked it.


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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 1st, 2010 @ 09:28 PM Reply

I simply loved the story about the USB-port-brain (yes I shall call it that) and the poem has wonderful flow. Keep it up, no negative thoughts here.


Failure should push you until success can pull you.

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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 1st, 2010 @ 10:35 PM Reply

Sci-fi piece has a lot of potential for a really fun short story without having to be slipstream.

The little mermaid piece was an interesting revisit to the story. It was good for what it was.

Last, the poem could use some work. If you want to have a rhyming poem, I would recommend using iambic pentameter. The way it is is now, it seems too sing songy. Iambic pentameter would give you the rhythm you want, and if you use an ABAB CDCD rhyming patthern, you can get the rhyme you want from the poem as well. Prose poems come out really well if the rhyme scheme is subtle, otherwise it sounds like a theme song at the beginning of an old TV show (The Beverly Hillbillies).

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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 1st, 2010 @ 10:41 PM Reply

At 2/1/10 10:35 PM, Deathcon7 wrote:
Last, the poem could use some work. If you want to have a rhyming poem, I would recommend using iambic pentameter. The way it is is now, it seems too sing songy. Iambic pentameter would give you the rhythm you want, and if you use an ABAB CDCD rhyming patthern, you can get the rhyme you want from the poem as well. Prose poems come out really well if the rhyme scheme is subtle, otherwise it sounds like a theme song at the beginning of an old TV show (The Beverly Hillbillies).

Thank you for using the term "prose poem!"

Though I feel that his poem was nice in its lyricalness. -- gives it a sort of flair. I also didn't think it was too apparent (the rhyme scheme), but that may just be me.

Also note that Iambic is used by very few poets (in terms of a whole). So there has to be a way of doing it outside of that method. -- at least in my opinion.


Failure should push you until success can pull you.

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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 1st, 2010 @ 11:11 PM Reply

At 2/1/10 10:35 PM, Deathcon7 wrote: Sci-fi piece has a lot of potential for a really fun short story without having to be slipstream.

The little mermaid piece was an interesting revisit to the story. It was good for what it was.

Last, the poem could use some work. If you want to have a rhyming poem, I would recommend using iambic pentameter. The way it is is now, it seems too sing songy. Iambic pentameter would give you the rhythm you want, and if you use an ABAB CDCD rhyming patthern, you can get the rhyme you want from the poem as well. Prose poems come out really well if the rhyme scheme is subtle, otherwise it sounds like a theme song at the beginning of an old TV show (The Beverly Hillbillies).

Thanks for the review!

The sci-fi piece I'm excited to write, and I'm already working on the next one in that series. I'm done writing about Nancy tho, she had her moment, she's finished. Her assistant Dan is the focus of the next one and takes place a few years further into the future. I'll be posting that probably sometime tomorrow.

The poem... yeah. That's just something I pulled out while under the influence last night. I like the first verse, but it doesn't go anywhere. The second verse starts forming a story, but it completely kills the first verse. I don't know if I'll keep writing it, poetry really isn't my bag.

Really my only goal with any poetry I write these days is no love poems, and no tortured soul poems. They are very cliche and not how I deal with my emotions anyway. Dark feelings translate to dark humor for me. Writing that I'm sad is kind of unnatural when I could be making fun of something instead.

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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 1st, 2010 @ 11:13 PM Reply

Nothing better than a good satire! -- Vonnegut, you old guy, how I love you. Douglas too.


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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 1st, 2010 @ 11:17 PM Reply

Douglas is the master :) Isn't Towel Day coming up soon? Don't answer that, lol, I'll go look it up :P

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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 1st, 2010 @ 11:22 PM Reply

At 2/1/10 11:17 PM, Version2 wrote: Douglas is the master :) Isn't Towel Day coming up soon? Don't answer that, lol, I'll go look it up :P

"What is it like being teleported?
Well it is like being unpleasantly drunk.
What's wrong with being drunk?
Ask a glass of water."

Not exact, but that was in one of the books. How I love him!

Anyways, we digress...


Failure should push you until success can pull you.

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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 2nd, 2010 @ 11:09 PM Reply

Just Another Strange Day

John woke up groggy, and slowly. He rubbed his eyes and sleepily fought his way to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He stepped into his house slippers, yawning and stretching, getting the sleep out of his system. He stood up and looked at himself in the full length mirror. His brown eyes were red and puffy, his short, brown-almost-black hair was standing up on one side of his head. He decided that his tanned skin looked ghoulish this early in the morning.

He needed coffee. He went to the door and shuffled drowisly down the hallway turning left into his kitchen.

THUNK!

Jane jumped back and put a hand to her nose. She had left a cupboard door open last night and ran straight into it in her zombie like state. She closed the door with one hand, rubbing a spot on her breast where the corner had jabbed her. She hadn't even been awake for five minutes, and already this day was taking a downturn. She sighed and ran her fingers thru

She pulled a bag of black gold out of the freezer, and spooned out some french roasted rocket fuel into her coffee machine. As she grabbed the glass pot and turned towards the sink, She started getting this feeling. Something was slightly off about today. Lost in her thoughts, she held the pot under the faucet till she felt water overflowing onto her hand. She stopped the tap and poured the excess out, shaking the feeling from her head. She turned back to the machine, mentally counting the minutes until the coffee would be ready. But coffee insisted it wasn't going to happen, and the slick handle of the pot slipped from Jane's hand.

CRASH!

Glass and water exploded everywhere like knee high nuke had been set off in the kitchen. Groaning, Jimmy reached for a paper towel, and started collecting the biggest pieces of glass. Water had soaked into his house slippers, the fur lining now squishing between his toes.

He could mop later, it was just water after all. He needed to wake up, so he headed for the bathroom. The feeling started nagging him again as he was brushing his teeth. He looked into the mirror, seeing if his own green eyes might hold the answer.

Did I have something to do today?
Not that I can think of.
Is somebody coming to visit?
Nobody has said anything.

Whatever, standing there and wondering about it was about as useless as counting the freckles on his pale cheeks. He spit out his toothpaste and stripped down to shower. The water was warm and relaxing. He stood with his back to the showerhead, letting the stream soak thru his red hair, and around his face, eyes closed. Jimmy reached into the shower caddy behind his head searching by feel for the shampoo bottle. Not being very careful, his clumsy fingers knocked the bottle out of the wire frame. The shampoo bounced off the edge of the tub and sailed in a graceful ark straight into the toilet.

SPLASH!

Mommy was going to be mad. First Jamie had made the mess in the kitchen, and now she had knocked Mommy's nice smelling shampoo into the toilet. Jamie wanted to cry, but Daddy said big girls don't cry. She was a Daddy's girl, but she wouldn't admit it. She didn't want to be made fun of.

She sat in the tub, with water up to her chest and listened for sounds in the hallway. Maybe if she was quick enough, and got the bottle out, no one would know. But the toilet was dirty, she didn't want to stick her hand in it.

But she didn't want to get in trouble either. She slid down the tub to sit next to the toilet, and leaned over to look inside. The bottle was nearly full and had sank to the bottom. She was going to have to stick her whole arm in that icky water. She held her breath and turned her head away as she plunged her tiny hand into the water. It was cold and YUCKY!

She pulled the bottle out and stuck her hand in the tub water again quickly so she could wash all the toilet germs off her arm. After she was satisfied she was clean, she stood up, and put the bottle back into the shower caddy again. How did that thing fall from up there anyway?

The water draining from the tub, Jamie towel dried, dressed, and brushed her hair. She liked it when Daddy said she was a big girl, so she did it all by herself to make him happy. Reaching out for the door handle she started to feel bad tho. She looked back at the shower caddy. Was she feeling guilty? She didn't really know. She just felt bad.

Maybe she felt bad because mommy would be using toilet shampoo. That had to be it. She took a deep breath. She would tell her parents what she had done, that will make the bad feeling go away. And maybe they would be proud of her for not lying.

She opened the door and started walking towards the living room barefoot. "Mommy, I've got to tell you somethi-"

BANG!

"SONUVA!" Jack jumped back on one foot, grabbing for the toe he had stubbed on the coffee table leg. He flopped on the arm of the couch and rubbed his foot until the pain subsided. He looked around the living room floor at all the crap scattered around. A pile of circuit boards and broken plastic had tumbled off the table when he kicked it, waiting for an unsuspecting foot to step on the jagged pieces. Cigarette burns dotted the floor, and an ashtray had been tipped over spilling butts everywhere. Food wrappers, garbage and other assorted horrors lurked in the shadows of furniture.

He looked up at his entertainment center. The VCR was gone, the DVD player, the Stereo. Great, just great. He picked up a baggy off the table and examined it. It was empty save for a powdery residue. He threw it back down next to the pipe, disgusted. When he was really spun he liked to tear things apart, but this was a bit excessive. How many people had been over here? How long ago had it been? He was having trouble remembering anything before this morning.

At least the TV was still there, intact, not sold or stolen. He picked the remote up off the couch, but it was too light. He looked at it in his hand, it was nothing more than a plastic shell now. Jack cursed and threw it at the television.

PLINK!

The lizard must have tapped the glass pretty hard to make a sound that loud. Jenny looked at the terrarium above the tv, and indeed, Drags had managed to tip his log over, again. She walked across the room, catching wiffs of carpet shampoo wafting up from her footsteps.

Picking up the antique wooden stool brought back memories. It was simple, and made of maple. Her husband had made it years ago when they were both young. She placed the stool in front of the terrarium and stood up to switch off Drags lights. After removing the cover she reached in and put the log standing again, this time a bit further away from the glass. As she pulled her hand out, a sudden burst of wrongness over whelmed her. Her knees felt weak and she grabbed the top of the lizards tank to steady herself, but it was to late to regain her balance. She fell, pulling the dangerous glass cube down, and tipping the entire entertainment center over.

CRACK!

Julias forehead bled where the satelite reciever box hit her,

SMASH!

Jordon cried out as the TV fell into his ribs

CRUNCH!

the phone book hit Jerome square in the -

BAM!

Jackie's eyes -

THUD!

The wall was white. No it wasn't. There was something else there. It was red. But not the whole wall, the whole wall was white. And soft. Jame's nose hurt, and felt wet.

Something was wrong. Wait, no. Something WAS wrong. It was wrong then. Not now, nonono. Something was right now!

Candy? The white shirts candy never tasted good. Today it was a different color. White and blues, white and blues, whites'n'blueswhites'n'blueswhites'n'blu es... Whites and reds?

James nose hurt. He was tired. The ground is soft. It's sleepytime now.

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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 3rd, 2010 @ 02:17 PM Reply

Bump. Need some input on this last piece.

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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 4th, 2010 @ 01:38 PM Reply

Just Another Strange Day:

There's some interesting experimentation in this story, helped out by some extensive internal and smaller visual differentiations that are given attention by the way you've written the story. The devices chosen to carry on the story function well for giving each character a hurdle to jump or something to contend with. I'm not entirely sure of the purpose of all of it, so maybe you can give me some commentary there. It has a good sense of madness that seems to be strongest at the end, yet also nonsensical at that stage too, to the point where everything so far has no meaning anyway. Intriguing, yet confusing. Is there are more specific reason you use sounds to split up each person?

This is all down, definitely. I'm not really sure how to voice my biggest thought though, which is related to where the experiment might lead, which is to nowhere. That's crafted relatively well by the end, albeit a bit quickly for such a strange and (un-)explanatory story. Language-wise, I think some parts could possibly be tweaked as far as you're trying to illuminate all these different persons, and some more visual clues could possibly be offered too, small things that creep up on us in the big picture of the story. The little girl's personality is communicated the most thoroughly, and the drug addict (?) is up there too. It might interfere with your experiment to add more to these characters, but I'm not really sure what that is.

I think you've succeded in making me curious, but at the same time not really offered much in the way that I can use as my answer to your experiment, if that makes sense. I'll certainly look forward to your own impressions.

I was also thinking that this might come out well as a short script. It'd be a bitch to write properly, but it'd give a bit more weight to what you've not looked at so thoroughly throughout. I don't know.

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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 4th, 2010 @ 02:36 PM Reply

To be honest I wasn't really sure where I was going with it when I started. The different characters are modeled after people I know, the little girl is one of my nieces, the meth addict is my brother (yeah, really...). The entire story is just about someone banging their head on a wall, in a padded room. I tried to leave some clues in the end, but they're probably lost in the maddness.

He's switching characters every time he hits his head, which I was trying to show at the end by the blood (red) on the the wall and the broken nose. The reason everything was happening was because his medication (candy) was switched that day (whites'n'blues/whites'n'reds). The story does wrap itself up nicely, unfortunately it wraps up inside of a drug addled and insane mind

Dubbi
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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 4th, 2010 @ 10:15 PM Reply

I swear to god man, this is some funniset stuff I've ever read, you have a gift at obscenity filled comedy filled with utter craziness.


I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
Than teach 10,000 stars how not to dance.
-- ee cummings

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Version2
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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 4th, 2010 @ 10:21 PM Reply

Ha ha thanks :)

I've got a lot of American and British comedic influences, and a strange fascination with unimportant details. It makes a style that works for me tho :)

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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 5th, 2010 @ 08:57 PM Reply

At 2/4/10 10:21 PM, Version2 wrote: Ha ha thanks :)

I've got a lot of American and British comedic influences, and a strange fascination with unimportant details. It makes a style that works for me tho :)

This one was hardly a story. 1.2/10


Failure should push you until success can pull you.

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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 5th, 2010 @ 09:39 PM Reply

At 2/5/10 08:57 PM, TrevorW wrote:
This one was hardly a story. 1.2/10

This was hardly a review, -orange/fish

::Two can play at this game!
:::I might not know the rules as well as you...

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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 5th, 2010 @ 09:42 PM Reply

Ha. Cheers mate. Keep that pen flowing.


Failure should push you until success can pull you.

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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 7th, 2010 @ 02:21 AM Reply

At 2/2/10 11:09 PM, Version2 wrote: Just Another Strange Day

Ohh, this was a fun read. Nice work!


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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 12th, 2010 @ 01:01 AM Reply

Candy Girl

You bought the skirt,
you fit the bill,
you got your drugs,
you took a pill,

you take a breath
you free your mind
the music bumps
body keeping time

You feel the bliss,
You feel the peak,
You want the touch,
you need the heat,

you want to dance,
you're on the floor,
hypnotized by eyes,
you are now my whore.

TrevorW
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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 12th, 2010 @ 01:15 AM Reply

Nice little diddle there.


Failure should push you until success can pull you.

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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 12th, 2010 @ 03:19 PM Reply

I am really starting to get depressed about the lack of excitement in my life right now. Here's to good times:

Mushroom Dreams

Stereo bubbling
people dripping
from the ceiling
in the kitchen

Man in top hat
keeps on laughing
balloons get passed
with nitrous gassing

skin is freezing
skin is burning
lights are spinning
head is twirling

hazy beauty
dark and twisted
faces melt
while smearing lipstick

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Response to Writing 2.0 Feb. 12th, 2010 @ 04:13 PM Reply

I started writing this as a poem, but somewhere along the way it started turning into more of a song. Of course once I realized that, I got a complete case of writers block and couldn't keep going. So this is being posted as unfinished, with updates to come later. Tell me what you think:

Coming Down

I've been coming down a lot
I've been blacking out
I've been missing spots

I toss and turn with restless thoughts
I stand, I sit,
I'm cold and hot.

Sleep needs to take me away from here
just get me into bed
get this shit out of my head
I'll do it again and again I fear
to these chemicals I'm wed
will I be better off dead?

I sit, and I stare, and I look, and I glare
my mind is a mess
my brain will confess
I walk, and I pace, and I run, and I race
fucking tireless
I'm utterly hopeless