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so what about the story/script thing i wrote?(it's up on this page somewhere.

At 12/14/05 04:14 PM, anotherguy wrote: so what about the story/script thing i wrote?(it's up on this page somewhere.

Just read it.

It was rather random, although I think it was rather amusing as well. A good peice of randomness is the best thing for me to say really :-)

At 12/14/05 04:31 PM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote:

At 12/14/05 04:14 PM, anotherguy wrote: so what about the story/script thing i wrote?(it's up on this page somewhere.

Just read it.

It was rather random, although I think it was rather amusing as well. A good peice of randomness is the best thing for me to say really :-)

it was really random!! thanks..
i like it if i say so myself.

Cursed be my fate
That I should love you.
Lo, I kneel before you,
And yet you pause.
A feline daintily
Licking blood from her claws.

Perhaps unveiled may avail
The better outcome.
Yet how come silent
Whisperings, no screamings
Pass you by
When uncouth badgerings will suffice.

A more elegant court I’d have
I don’t want to feed the bull
I’ll suckle the calf.
What’s your poison my love?
Idle flirts or sweet doves
Floating ‘cross the welkin’s face.

Dear be reasonable, no, sound,
In a decision, for time winds down.
Shall it be your courtly lover?
Or a boisterous other,
Who would defile my love,
My sweet fair love?
________________________

Another poem. Please Enjoy, and comment on this and the three I posted on the last page , I would love to hear some sort of feedback.

Good to see you again Deathtuna, welcome back. I see your poetry still hasn't lost its edge :)

At 12/15/05 04:28 AM, Coop83 wrote: Good to see you again Deathtuna, welcome back. I see your poetry still hasn't lost its edge :)

Ya true.

anyway, I just wanted to say I wil ldo the collab after my last exam on sat... so it will be up this weekend most likely.

and thanks to anderson for nominating me for the bbs awards stuff. Appreciate it man.

Uh...

see you later/study time

if anyone is interested in my 'philosphical thoughts' - check my dA page (see sig links) and read my journal entry there. Comment here if you dont have an account. = )

consuming christmas

Christmas is the inside
of a pocket
filled with chess pawns,
and two fingers
slipping one away.

Another Christmas Story - Not Quite a Mircale

The birds have ceased their singing being courteous to those who also serenade. Wind has come and gone, and will come and go again. In riddles, the breeze will whistle and paint the tune that travels past your ear, it will bend the stars that navigate the homes, and it will sneak between your layers, giving you that chill of Christmas morning.

A pessimistic world suddenly grows eager to please, like a flower in the spring, each begging to be picked. The chance to bestow that grinning gift – for all the people nearing Christmas seem to gain a certain jolt, and nod and gesture all day long until a plastic lemon grows on every face – and on the morning of, only one gift can redisplay that certain tired smile they held all through the week.

And the feast is always special to the families that gather in joy. Turkey, ham and sweet potatoes drowning in gravy and sauce; dressing, cranberries and brandy butter softening up each tongue; and do not forget the pumpkin pie, whipped cream, pudding and cake, for not a Christmas meal can go without a taste. Each slumbering guest rocks about the household and slumps in every chair, for the weight they gained during dinner is far too heavy to bare. Though what aging parents never realize is that just before Christmas day, they lost a few pounds somewhere between the rushing mall and the snowball fight out back their home. And somewhere in that igloo, or snow angel across the lawn, they made a Christmas special for their children and their spouse.

And as the family laughs and eats, and parties once the children sleep, the Christmas tree by the front window witnesses the first star of the night, and the angel carefully ballets across the tip of the green in delight. The reindeer on the lawn next door light up the silver cheeks of your elves, and the lights across their roof tumble down like icicles. Carollers sing, and maybe even dance, as they travel home to home under the snow that only just begun. Buggy rides along the main street of those simple little towns, and stockings warm by fire, as the twisting and turning family seem to gain a sleepless night.

Although, as much as I adore the season, not every Christmas is so kind, as some people in your area are without the spirit at all. And it is hardest to say that not every Christmas a miracle occurs. As I blink the sun away in my study by the darkening window, I say to you that the story I possess is not what you expect, but instead, a story of Christmas glum.

Kelly was a single mother of only twenty-eight. She always did quite fine raising her ten-year-old son, but recently, upon hard times, life made Christmas less cheerful than before. As she stood in the row of pawns and held tight the few gifts she had, she thought about the colours that Christmas always brought. She loved the greens of lasting trees, and loved the reds of lights; she loved the whites of snowfall, and the silver and gold tinsel throughout her son’s room. And then she grew depressed at the thought of little Michael’s face.

However, she scavenged up a smile, when Jonithen approached her from behind, and whispered in her ear, “Michael will be fine.”

He always knew what she was thinking, and it was uncannily pleasing to her ears. It comforted her just as much as his arms around her, and his cologne about the air. Jonithen was a good boyfriend, and the thing she loved the most about him was the way he loved little Michael just as much as he loved her.

Kelly was so sad because she recently was fired from her working place downtown, and had been searching for a job for weeks, but nearing the festive season no one was willing to hire. She just could not afford her bills.

“I say we go visit Michael right now. I think we got most of what we need. I did most my shopping a month ago, as I did not want to be here like this on Christmas Eve.”

…(continued)

…(continued)

Kelly smiled and agreed and they went about their way. The street lamps were all decorated with holly, wreaths and coloured string. The buildings were all ornamented with lights that speckled throughout and gleamed. Passer-bys were cheerful, children ran and played, and the eldest women smiled as they watched the snow fall lightly on their knitted berets. The white was such a canvas for the beautiful colours of Christmas to portray.

Now, before I carry on, I want to quickly explain. Kelly is not worse off than some others, but her story is important to note. Prepare yourself for very sad news, or at least news to you, for Kelly’s problems extend far longer than just her occupation, and the green within her purse.

Jonithen placed his hand on the door handle, and felt a sudden chill. As much as it was the atmosphere, he knew it was something else. He immediately put on his biggest smile and walked into the room to see Michael resting well.

“Hey Michael. How do you feel?” he asked.

“Good,” he said, as he pulled the white sheets towards his cheeks.

Kelly walked in and leaned over Michael in the bed. She paused, then gently kissed him and spoke a few quiet words.

As I was getting at before, Michael is quite sick. At the age of six years old, he developed a tumour, a brainstem glioma that has him confined to the hospital bed. The worst part about it is that the survival rate past five years is extremely low, and as you can tell, his time is nearing end.

Michael looked at the two adults that peered over him distraught, and he sat himself up with a few words in his mind he wanted to say, “I spent the day with some of the other children, and we talked about Santa Clause. Now I know I really never believed in him before, but I wanted to write him a letter. I was hoping, mom, that you would read it before I send it to him up north.”

“Of course, dear, where is it?”

Michael pulled it out from under his sheet; it was a little wrinkled from his grip, and he handed it to his mother while hoping for the best.

Kelly opened it gently and looked inside. She was so happy that he wrote it, for he usually barely said a word. And in two simple lines it read, if I could have anything for Christmas it would be a father for me, and a husband for my mother.

Kelly paused and stared at the letter before her sudden tears. She could not help but be amazed, for Michael knew his time was up, and was looking out for his one true love. He was growing into a young man, and she was dreadfully proud of him. Her cheeks felt flush, and her body just as warm as her lungs grew tight and hard.

And just as a tear dripped off her soft cheek and blended with the blue lines of the paper, Jonithen turned to Kelly and said, “and this is where I change your life.”

He kneeled down on one knee and pulled a small brown box from his pocket. Kelly had her hand to her mouth, but the lemon could be seen at the edges.

“I know it hasn’t been long, but I love you more than I could ever imagine. I love the compassion you hold, and the beauty that is both your appearance and your person. I especially love that contagious smile,” he said as he caught a glimpse of her glee and couldn’t help but beam, “and I love Michael too,” he winked at Michael, and Michael quickly winked back. Michael was so proud of himself; he had the cutest smirk.

Kelly spoke without hesitation, “yes, don’t go on or I’ll cry forever. I’ll marry you, I will.”

They kissed, and it was beautifully pleasant.

Even though Michael feared his death, he knew his mother was in good hands, and he got exactly what he wanted for Christmas.

Christmas comes and goes, but the memories last a year, for when the morning finally comes the smiles of your children are perfect during that day. The children scream and run to the tree that stands so very tall, they grab their first present and rip it open quick, and seem shocked and certainly awed. They 'thank you' and they laugh, they kiss you and they play; it is just one of those beautiful things that is worth it in every way.

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

Okay, I lied: a miracle may occur (as it usually does) - we’re not quite done, for next Christmas at eleven years old… Christmas was at home.

New poem, enjoy.

Sweet Release

Death was sweet release,
Respite, solace.

At last, without you.

Most would mourn, lament.
A fitting exercise for the
Foolish and Discontent.

Yet I rejoice, jubilation!
Indeed a final salvation,
Though most may
Deem perdition.

In truth, it’s better here.
Fear? Well, I get by.
An obligatory price
For such freedom
Would suffice to stifle
The most earnest.

Yet I gladly paid,
Preferring to be laid
Amongst the steadfast stones
And restless soil.

‘Parting is such sweet sorrow’,
Clearly one knows not of true loneliness,
God’s most debilitating, aggravating.
A result of childish infatuating of
Some object, some person.

In the company of the flies or doves,
Whichever prefer me,
Will I be truly content.

I once thought you heaven sent.
Now, quite the literal reverse.

A meagre attempt at prose, please criticize. I want to know if I did well with diction, and does it breathe, does it sound well? I suppose prose of mine will always be confined to such conventions as are commonplace in poetry, for I think not only should a story entertain or provoke thought but be pleasing, or displeasing if the case may be, to the ear.
So yes, enjoy.

It was late, probably three in the morning. I’m not too sure; clocks are easy to pass over when you’re tired and have other things on your mind. But yes, three in the morning, or was it three thirty?… either way, it was late.
I traced with my eyes a circuit around the elliptical kitchen table that sat so perfectly in the center of our kitchen, or rather, dining area, as the actual cookware and associated appliances were housed and utilized in a smaller room adjoining. I paced this route; again and again I paced it with such fervor, such purpose, such ambition. I came to intimately know every little detail of the kitchen table. It was of a dark, robust brown, and the wood grain ran irregularly along the surface. Scattered atop were papers of varied importance, scrawlings of mine, mail, and other such papers as are found commonplace in any home, and atop these sat my cat, Tiger.
She was built smaller than most cats, more compact and sleek, with a dark fur covering her, except for her eyes, which were encircled with white fur, so that her eyes seemed illuminated, and much more accented.
It was my understanding that Tiger possessed an affection for me far greater than that of cats in normal feline-master relationships, for she stared at me intently as I paced the table, turning her head round and round to follow my path, and on occasion would hop down from her perch and follow me by foot around my course. When I would veer from my task to make tea in the kitchen, she’d follow me into there as well. And as I stood by the counter, gripping the dome-shaped kettle, she would jump atop the counter and watch the searing hot water being poured into my mug, and nuzzle her face against my arms, and meow, and beg for attention.
It was not that I was an inattentive or neglective master. Rather, I showered her with affection; she was rarely refused. But I am only human, and have other interests besides my cat, and therefore my business was not entirely of her pleasure.
So she would stalk me through my house, and I being the dutiful owner would stoop to pet her often, and the rest of the time, would walk in silence, contemplating.
It was of depressing reasons I was up so late this night
She is an angel, or in league with such at the very least. Long dark hair wraps around her slender figure, and she possessed a smile that would soften the hardiest of hearts. And it was she only that could so clearly see through me and make light of what I kept within me, and for this I became enamored by her.
I hung off every word she said, and did my best to entertain her. Our courtship started as most: shy, sweet, expressive. I was the happiest person alive! She was incredible, she was kind, she was intelligent, and she was a wonderful person.
We were in constant commune with one another, and knew the intimacies of each other’s lives so very well, and because of this I eventually learned that she felt still for an old romance of hers. Needless to say I was destroyed, for I was terribly taken by her.
There began my depression, my suffering. And it is of my opinion that feelings are only made stronger and more resolute through suffering. I pray that if I ever do fall in love, it is coupled with suffering, for only then may I truly love.
I suffered for I longed after the unattainable, and found my feelings unreturned. I’d follow her anywhere, and she would probably only respond periodically with a burst of conversation or friendship, never the type of relationship I longed for.
I was doomed to a life of loneliness, and nothing is so aggravating as the prospect of never knowing the closeness and softness of another’s touch, never having a connection so intimate and so lovely.
I continued my course about the table, my feet steadily rising and falling, as they had been for some time. Tiger continued to watch me with so focused a look.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
I reached a hand over the table, fondly scratched her behind the ears, and went upstairs to my bed.
Oh Tiger, you shouldn’t suffer as I have.

ACTION EXPERTS READ THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!
short: Rai is a good guy turned evil,the western town isn't important right now, and the place where you read: "commander" is where a war is going on.Kira is a girl.
they all belong to the same story.
JUST REVIEW IF IT HAS GOOD ACTION THAT'S ALL!!!

Dbcf

Chapter 13 (the last one was 12)

Back in the western town..
Crook: the beast has another victim…
Civilian: what do you think he does to them?
Crook: I don’t wanna know.

Commander: fire the shredder!!!!
The shredeer…a new weapon invented by humans. The first of the new breed guns, it shoots mini- destructo discs.
Rebel 1: ok, you heard him! Prepare the shredder!!!
Two rebels, one holding the shredder, one loading it. The bullets look like normal bullets from a handgun only bigger. A vertical (from up to down) shows what’s inside, and what’s inside is a purple ooze. (energy)
Rebel 2: ready for fire!
Commander:….fire!!!
The shredder shoots like a regular gun, pull the trigger and it shoots, except it’s as big as a rocket launcher, and it shoots energy discs.
They shoot down five troopers before the first bullet is used up.
Commander: ok!! That were five hits!! Now, reload!!
Rebel 2: reload!!

Kira: who is that?
Rai: I knew you would come! I told you to stay out of this. Just go back! I took care of it all.
Kira: you did?! I don’t belive you! What’s going on? What happened to you? Why do you look so dark?
Rai: you sure have a lot of questions! I’ll tell you what, YOU go back to the hideout….and I’ll meet you there, I just need to find the dragonballs.
Kira:….NO!! I wanna now what happened in there. Where’s the emperor?!
Rai: listen to me!! Go back to the hideout.
Kira walks closer to Rai, she walks past him towards the ship.
Rai: stop it!
Kira keeps on walking without talking (it rimes)
Rai: *sigh* the I guess I would have to KILL you!
Rai shoots a red evil looking energy blast at Kira, kira turns around and notices the blast right before here face.
Time stops (because it sounds cool)…..the blast is right in front of Kira’s nose, time continues…Kira is gone!!
The blast hits the ship!!!???

Commander: look!! Over there!! It’s a rebellion aircraft!!
A spaceship approaches the battlefield…a lot of armed rebels come out, and one kid who seems to be in charge.
( Kira, Rai, the commander, this guy are all a bit older then teen gohan who fought cell)
Tayle: I figured you guys could use some help!
The troopers are now being attacked from the back and the front… the battle is now in favour of the Rebels…

Rai: where are you?!!
Kira pops up behind him and knock him into some rocks.
Kira: the same thing happened to me, I too have these powers, Rai. I don’t know what happened to you, but I’m gonna kick your ass!
Rai: hahahaha, you make me laugh, FOOL!!!!
Rai teleports behind Kira and punches her, sending her flying..he flies after her and knocks her into the ground.
Rai shoots a beam at the spot where Kira was laying, but she quickly jumps away.
Kira flies towards Rai, and vice-versa.
They both use their right hand to punch eachother, they both get hit and both fall.
Rai lands on his feet, but Kira falls.
Rai puts his evil smile back up, and laughs. Kira gets up and wipes some blob coming out of her mouth away…
Rai: you are weak!!!
Kira: i'm just getting started!!
...

nicely written, deathtuna!
but at the ending, does he (you?) do something with the cat?
like ....kill it?
saying "you don't have to suffer as i have"
anyway...it's very detailed, i can see a guy in my mind doing exactly what you wrote, when i read it.good.

This isnt quite complete. I am asking for actual criticism. You don't have to comment on the technical, even just how well it reads would help. Thanks.

backwards

death isn’t something
I dread, or tear over.
death is a fetus-man
crying
in a black corner.

he stood there in that dark room
with his hands in his pockets
maybe without a care in the world
he simply stared foreword
he never looked back
even when he saw that faint
reflection in the window
he never looked back
before he could gather thoughts
he found himself falling to the floor
the wood floor beneath him was cold
or maybe that was death rushing
over his body in an instant of pain
his face – his face had a smirk
just for moment
before he finally relaxed all his muscles
and lay limp on the wood floor
it didn’t hurt anymore
he could feel blood pool beneath his cheek
he always thought he would die instantly
but it was if he was viewing his own departure
he wasn’t scared
he lived to die

time murders us all
in the end.
time is a goldfish
you lost,
but never sought.

he entered his home
everything was pitch black,
but instead of turning on the lights
he simply waited for his eyes to adjust
he slumped himself on his couch
he saw a few streams of light attempting
to squeeze through his window covering
it was then he heard a knock at the door
it was then he began second guessing himself
he opened the door, but no one was there
he turned around to find a gun at his head
“no wait!” he said,
“I do not want it to end this way.
Just take your money and leave.”
the man said nothing, and seized his money
he uncovered his window and let the streetlights
and the moon and the stars fill the room
with just the weakest of light
but enough to make him smile
he placed his hands in his pockets
maybe without a care in the world
and then he saw the man in the shadows

money aids society’s
true burden.
money is a dead pond
with a limestone
bottom.

he looked around the scummy hall
the pool tables were more disgusting
than the ground that he walked upon
the room was quite full with large men
most of whom were drunk and little threat
he immediately walked towards the back hallway
the bartender tried to stop him
“washroom?” he asked
he walked past, but instead of turning to his right
he took the door to the left
walking in as calmly as he could
the men around the poker table all stopped
and most of their hands headed towards their guns
one of the men told them to hold off
he walked forward towards them
“you fucked with the wrong man”
“you got nothing on us”
“I have a dead family and reason to believe-“
“you got nothing on us”
he placed his hand in his jacket pocket
the men at the table tensed
placing their hands on the butt of their guns
he pulled out his gun and started firing
one shot, two shot, three shot, four
they all fell like water from a sprinkler
the fifth man fell like a log
he left them all dead and walked out
no one said a word, but they all watched
he got in his car and drove home
there was no blood on his hands
he walked up his driveway
he grabbed his key and entered
it was darker than the night behind him

criminals were hard
to find, but easy to kill.
people are the grungy
base
of a dry well.

he sat in the diner and watched the sun
from the window to his left
it was just starting to fall
night was arriving faster than he expected
finally, a man sat across from him in the booth
“are you my man?” he asked
the beastly opposition nodded
“here is 20% to make sure you know I am serious.
the rest you will receive after the job”
he pushed the folded brown envelope forward
“I want you to kill me.”
The man seemed curious, but by no means shocked
“the address and time is in there with the money.
I would like you to treat it like a regular hit,
but surprise me. I want to die with a scared look.”
the man picked up the envelope and left
the diner door jangled as it closed.
he got up out of the booth and headed for his car
he drove a few blocks into the city
until he found his desired destination
the sign said “Frankie’s” above the door
why are people so stupid as to name
a place like that with their own identity
I entered the pool hall with a creak.

no sinner of these deeds
would go free.
freedom is the elastic band
suffocating your wrist,
and the tattoo left behind.

he stirred in the hotel bed
even in his sleep he could not think
everything was torturous
the things he wanted to escape for a moment
were the things haunting him
like that of guilt, always by your ear
in his sleep he gained no rest
and woke up tired than before
his eyes glossy, and his hair thick and unclean
he slipped out from under the duvet
he shook like a fearful little boy
images ran through his mind
like a jabbing dagger at his thoughts
and like the long blade of a knife
they prolonged the minutes in his mind
that string of fragments
shattered glass upon the floor of his conscious
deathly faces screaming for mercy
blood across the white walls and leather couch
a phone ringing in his head
“your family” distorted words
until all that consumed him “is dead”
tears and scars flash across his body
revenge sums the power of his quest
throwing on a shirt he leaves the room
he walked into a diner with a jingle
he found himself the fifth booth on the right

I knew I would
get revenge.
grief is the inside
of a tunnel, and an echo
that will never fade.

he sat down with his files spread and forlorn
on his mind was the events of the past week
the murder case, and the threatening phone calls
that day he found the source to all his anguish
the day he found the tear of clothing
by the victims open door
a small amount of blood that seemed miniscule
compared to the puddles about the room
he itches his head as he reflected
about matching the blood sample
that led him to believe that Frankie
murdered those children and their parents
the man who had then started phoning
threatening to kill whoever turned in the evidence
he slammed his fist on the table and thought again
about the day he came home late from work
and found his wife and children slaughtered
he remembered being taken off the case
and the bloody evidence going missing
the pain he felt, and how badly he wanted revenge
he had nothing to live for – nothing
it was time he acted and moved on
to a better place
he looked at the bed to his right
and knew he needed his rest
he had not slept for three days

the worst part of death
is you have to live.
hell is
the colour red,
honestly.

myst-williams

i would comment on your poetry but i don't know the slightest thing about it.
-
-
-
-
people who like to comment on stuff there's a story above (from me) i would only like comment on the action.(since it's part 13 already and you know nothing about the story)

Is there anyone who would like to judge this round of the poetry contest... andersson has hit some personal problems and we need another judge.

Absolutely nothing to do this weekend, so I'll probably post some comments on stuff then.
Now I wonder why I decided to post here as soon as I got back in tonight?

Woo!

At 12/16/05 08:18 PM, -Doctor_Claus- wrote: Absolutely nothing to do this weekend, so I'll probably post some comments on stuff then.
Now I wonder why I decided to post here as soon as I got back in tonight?

Woo!

Want to help judge the contest? I only need a judge for this round currently... Anyone?

At 12/16/05 04:25 PM, anotherguy wrote:

myst-williams

i would comment on your poetry but i don't know the slightest thing about it.

I don't care if people dont feel they are lnowledgable in the field of poetry. even just a comment on plot, story, flow, or how well it reads would help some. = )

At 12/16/05 09:14 PM, gumOnShoe wrote: Want to help judge the contest? I only need a judge for this round currently... Anyone?

I would... but

I am in the contest

At 12/16/05 10:17 PM, Myst_Williams wrote: I would... but

I am in the contest

I didn't know that... (not really)

But there are a few people in here that didn't jump in, this probably means I'm going to have to find someone else in real life or its just going to be two judges. If sarai doesn't make it to the next round she is going to be a judge in the finals.

There is a poetry contest? Is it too late to join?

Myst, I just scanned over your verse, and it looks good. In a little bit I'll read it more thouroughly and offer what little advice I may have.

And thanks for the compliments, they're very much appreciated.

Alright, Myst, I liked the mafioso feel to the verse, the description was excellent, great diction. Some words felt forced though, Duvet for instance doesn't exactly fit into the mafioso motif.
Also, At the end of your fourth big stanza, I believe you accidentally changed the subject from 'he' to 'I', which throws off the reader for a few moments.
Aside from that, just basic tidying up: I don't know if you intentionally left out alot of puncuation or not, but that kind of stuff.

I hope I was of some help. I'm usually not much for this sort of thing, because generally the way a writer writes is the way the writer wants it to be writ, if that made any sense...

At 12/16/05 10:53 PM, deathtuna wrote: There is a poetry contest? Is it too late to join?

Myst, I just scanned over your verse, and it looks good. In a little bit I'll read it more thouroughly and offer what little advice I may have.

And thanks for the compliments, they're very much appreciated.

Yeah it is... but if you want to judge we ran into problems and need more. The second round ends tonight and we are doing finals soon. I was placed in charge since Andersson got into a batch of trouble. I see you write poetry, so if you'd like to join in let me know. I'll get you the links and you can read through it all.

At 12/16/05 11:07 PM, deathtuna wrote: Alright, Myst, I liked the mafioso feel to the verse, the description was excellent, great diction. Some words felt forced though, Duvet for instance doesn't exactly fit into the mafioso motif.

Ya, actually... for some reason... that is just what I call it... lol... im such a pooch. I'll fix that for sure.

Also, At the end of your fourth big stanza, I believe you accidentally changed the subject from 'he' to 'I', which throws off the reader for a few moments.

Eech... I had that problem all through writing. I kept mixing myself up at the end and beginning of stanzas... I thought I cought them all. Thanks for pointing that out.

Aside from that, just basic tidying up: I don't know if you intentionally left out alot of puncuation or not, but that kind of stuff.

Ya, punctuation is basically non existant except for the italic stanzas. Mostly because it is meant to mix and match the pace. The italics being slow thoughts, and the rest having bit of a pick up. I will revise that as well then. Thanks.

I hope I was of some help. I'm usually not much for this sort of thing, because generally the way a writer writes is the way the writer wants it to be writ, if that made any sense...

Ya, that makes sense... but... I dont necessarily believe that. At least, not for me. As I am still experimenting, trying to leanr and trying to improve upon what I already know and the skills I already have.

I appreciate it. Thanks for reading and commenting.

At 12/16/05 11:11 PM, gumOnShoe wrote:

but if you want to judge we ran into problems and need more.

Yeah I'll help you out. I haven't anything else to do.

Thanks for the help. Here's the link:
http://www.newground../topic.php?id=392425

We'll talk tommorow in more specifics... I however am tired and about to pass out.

Night all...

BOO!
Iam the ghost of christmas past!
haha, sorry did I scare you.
I dont know if you guys remember me but I used to post here like almost a year ago. I kinda got all depressed and suicidal and left because everyone was ignoring me here, but I looked over my ancient posts here and saw how annoying and pathetic I was. well I think I've changed, anyway if you guys want me back I'd be happy to post my poems again, if you guys still do that. I didnt bother reading over the 70 or so pages that I missed, I may be somewhat of a loser, but I dont have that much time on my hands! Anyway I'd like to apologize for my earlier, much much earlier actions, and uh, just for kicks here's one of my old funny, brain twisting poems just for old times sake:
BOREDOM
boredom is boring
when you think about it it makes even the hungriest of all apes fall into an old man waiting for a bus. the old man says Iam not waiting for the bus, the bus is waiting for this ape to fall on me, therefore we are all waiting for one another. we all wait for the bus which is waiting for an ape to fall, which is waiting for the zookeeper or a McDonalds employee to bring him a milk shake and an old man being falled upon by an ape who is being wated upon by a zookeeper or a McDonalds employee. we all wait for the bus, and therfore we all are bord. we are all consumed by boredome which is waiting for an ape to order his milkshake. Order your milkshake, the boredom says to the ape falling on a milkshake being consumed by a bus or a trash can. we introduce a new character, a trash can that cannot eat milkshakes, *BEEP* the trash can says *I CANNOT EAT MILKSHAKES*
thanks,
-your old pal G.C.

At 12/17/05 01:14 AM, G-MAN490 wrote: BOO!

Shit. I havnt seen you in ages.

haha, sorry did I scare you.

No.

yes

I dont know if you guys remember me but I used to post here like almost a year ago. I kinda got all depressed and suicidal and left because everyone was ignoring me here, but I looked over my ancient posts here and saw how annoying and pathetic I was.

I dont remember people purposely ignoring you. And, I dont remember you being pathetic.

Hey,didnt you support my RP for a while there?

well I think I've changed, anyway if you guys want me back I'd be happy to post my poems again, if you guys still do that.

Of course!

I would judge this poetry thingimajig if I knew anything about/cared for poetry.

At 12/17/05 06:57 AM, -Doctor_Claus- wrote: I would judge this poetry thingimajig if I knew anything about/cared for poetry.

Okay now go read my long poem and tell me what you think.

What's with all the old guys coming back... there have been tons recently... perhaps its just the break...

Anyway...

DeatTuna:

At some point today, give me some contact on AIM and we'll discuss the poetry contest. Andersson was kind of vague so we have to decide somethings. It won't take long...