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tried thought tracking?

At 4/7/06 12:01 PM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote: What's the best way of showing a characters thoughts?

I think it sort of depends on what perspective you're writing from. In third person, you can add "he thought" to the end of a character's thoughts, and that's pretty explanitory to the reader. You can put their thoughts in italics as well, but I find it garbles the look of the paragraphs.

Thoughts don't seem to be too much of an issue when writing from first person though.

- I thought the plaintiff was lying, but I had to prove it. Otherwise, Willis was going to have a date with the chair for sure.

Unless it's expressed in quotations, all text is inside the main character's head. Easy enough.

TOTALLY OFF-TOPIC: I don't know if anyone has posted a link to The Shadow Sun yet. I've submitted a quadruplet of articles there for reading pleasure, and am sure to post more in the near future. I prefer to post them there as they don't get lost as easily as in this steaming pile of BBS.

At 4/7/06 11:31 PM, FlashSpark wrote:

At 4/7/06 10:01 PM, -Manman- wrote: Shadow of Sun stuff.

So you would say that the sight is legit. I was thinking about it but I don't know. It's one thing posting here and another submitting there if you know what I mean.

I don't follow your reasoning. I've posted in this thread before. Many times. Now I post longer articles on The Shadow Sun, simply because they don't get discarded in this massive BBS as easily.

You could always just check out the site.

The only thing I see wrong with it right now is that it doesn't have enough regular members. It's looking like a pretty promising little community though.

At 4/7/06 12:01 PM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote: I have a general question for you lot which hopefully someone may be able to answer.

What's the best way of showing a characters thoughts?

I wrote a piece for my English A level and the teacher said that I shouldn't put characters thoughts in speech marks and put them in italics to differentiate them from regular speech. But I can't think of anyway to get the thoughts portrayed. How do the rest of you do it?

I usually just add single words or phrases into the text to give the reader some insight into the character's thoughts, but without breaking the narrative. That's good for giving a basic view of how the character responds to different situations, for example, if they're pissed off you could add in a lot of expletives ("Sir, I believe that's my seat you're in!" No shit...) and so on.
For more detailed thought processes I try and link it in with whatever else is going on, eg;
The church loomed ahead. He hated these places, ever since he was a kid. Even so, there was something about this one in particular... If he went inside things might go without a hitch, if he didn't, well, there was always tomorrow right?

That way things can run smoothly, and you don't really break off into any particularly special style of writing, just give the description a more personal touch and it comes across as the character's own thoughts.

The Story of Vannaka
Part 1

A cottage… A cottage in the west side, the West Side of Runescape. Also known as the dark lands, through and beyond canafis, Also known in times History the Badlands. Where you ask? No one knows, it no longer exists on the map, why? No one knows, it is all a distant memory for Vannaka, all I can say now is, he was lucky to survive…
It was an average day, the steam lifted off the ground, creatures lurking around the corners. Vannaka was but a little child, Vannaka son of the Woodsman. His Father was a rich woodsman, lurked through the woods cutting down the mighty Mystic Tree’s which were only ever discovered there, only the best and strongest could go there, cut the tree’s down get back and survive. Vannaka’s father was named Cyrus, Bringer of light. His mother, but a simple maid? Not likely, only the most powerful Human to The village, she was the chieftan, hard to believe? I know, she was known as the vampire slayer, The story I may tell you now may shock and disturb you, The sotry of Heroism, Might and determination and the greatest Warrior in Saradomins creation, I tell upon you… The Story of Vannaka…

It was but a simple day, as usual, dark, dank, to Vannaka it was home, His father was home that day, cutting his trees into either weapons or furniture to sell, though his mother… Had been gone for quite a while, Vannaka had been counting the days… 1 was fair… 2 was scary… by day 12 he was deeply worried, he asked his father every night when she’s coming back, he always replied ‘Tomorrow son… She’ll be here tomorrow. 3 years had passed, no word from her, though due to Vannaka’s young age to Childhood, he had forgotten about his mother. Though one day, when the day was particularly strong winded and pouring with rain. Young Vannaka was distraught, cast by his own shadow… He did not hear the screams of the town’s folk, why you ask? Vampires… The Vampires has found the Village.
Cyrus ran into the house. ‘Quickly son, we must hurry! Grab you sword my boy just incase, follow me. Vannaka was confused, but realised the cries for help outside. Then the bangs on the front door only alerted his full attention, he jumped out the window with his dad. And told his son ‘Son, my boy, my pure boy, please do not cry, go with your uncle on the horse, ill meet you at Varrock, where it is safe, take this letter and deliver it to the seers of seers village, your uncle shall deliver it, son you will be great one day, your name shall be known to all, I love you son.’
Cyrus through Vannaka on the horse and sheathed his Rune Longsword and lent out a battle cry ‘VANNAKA!’.
It was 3 weeks, they had just arrived at the city of Canafis, only to find the place in ruins, and covered in dead bodies, ‘Ok Vannaka you wait here, I’m going to find some help, ill be right back.
Vannaka kept his word, only to have lost it after 2 hours passed, Vannaka woke up only to hear the screams of his uncle… Vannaka had discovered a hairy beast feasting off the flesh of his uncle’s chest.
It was a werewolf, thought to be extinct at that time. Only to have returned, deadlier than ever. Vannaka ran, ran far, ran fast, only to discover a pair of ladders leading to a hatch, he had second thoughts, then the howling of the wolf getting louder and louder convinced him.
He climbed through the ladders only to be stared at by a threesome of monks. “Can this be? A child from another realm has visited ours in message of peace?” said monk John. “No he is a fabled werewolf, a mere be child with such knowledge of distant travelling must be corrupted, I say slay the child at once!” Yelled the Monk Jack. Only then to be halted by the powerful Lord Monk Ryu. “The Boy is neither of what you say or what you accuse or believe, he is infact but a mere child in confusement and terror. This child needs shelter, in varrock.” Vannaka rose his head in astonishment, that is the city his dad spoke of so many nights ago. Vannaka explained how his father wanted him to go to Varrock for shelter. Even though the Lord had sensed that the boy’s father had even better intentions. “ Dear Boy follow me…”
They travelled for a mere 2 hours, only to arrive at the city of Varrock, a city filled with enchantment and 100’s of possibilities, banks crowded with salesman and powerful warriors in which the Like Vannaka had never seen, powerful wizards that astonished and archers that gave Vannaka Goosebumps. But Vannaka came across with a mighty warrior indeed, Sir Arrav the Goblin slayer. “Hello young child, I have heard so much about you, You are Vannaka The future Knight and slayer of many beasts, that’s at least what Lord Ryu has been saying for many a year, come across from a different realm to smite down all evil and bring Light to this dark world.”
Vannaka was puzzled, he was confused yet he knew… Knew what he spoke of, it was his Father’s goal to achieve such tasks, to bring light to the order of The lands.
Arrav then yelled out. “Welcome to Runescape Vannaka!”

To be continued

Little thing i wrote 3 weeks ago when i was trying to get this on the website, i dont think i succeeded lol

Little series I've been working on. Let me know what you think.

Goffwysfa

At 4/9/06 04:24 AM, FlashSpark wrote: Well after much planning I have three complete novel ideas, and a short story ideas finalised.
I'll be working on the short story first and I'll upload it when I can, same goes for the first chpater of one of the novels. (Sleepers. But I think there's already many books called that so I'll probably have to change the title.)

Nice, Well for me at the Moment im writing the second part of the 5 part series of Vannaka, where he begins his life as a warrior by the teachings of a mysterious Stranger....

By the way guys, that Shadow Sun site (linked in sig) is actually pretty nifty, kind of like NG, only with written articles instead of flash movies. At the moment it really needs more voters, so it's worth a look even if you don't have anything to submit.

At 4/9/06 07:00 AM, -TheDoctor- wrote: By the way guys, that Shadow Sun site (linked in sig) is actually pretty nifty, kind of like NG, only with written articles instead of flash movies. At the moment it really needs more voters, so it's worth a look even if you don't have anything to submit.

alright ill give it a chance, ill take a look. it is kinda topic related in this thread anyway

hey guys i just started a second BBS story, and coop83 is the main villain! :D
i would have liked tri-nitro, the doctor and myst to join, i already have andersson and -canas- joined up, along with 20 others.
this will be a big project and it will take the hell out of me but i will love to do this :)
i hope you guys can join, the link to it is here
you do need to read the terms of agreement on the second page.

ignore my first post, all you need to do is post and say you want in.

prologue has already been posted, this is written in 24 form.

i hope you guys enjoy it

Dangan

And I Hope you respond to my message, after all i am in this club....

At 4/7/06 12:01 PM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote: I wrote a piece for my English A level and the teacher said that I shouldn't put characters thoughts in speech marks and put them in italics to differentiate them from regular speech. But I can't think of anyway to get the thoughts portrayed. How do the rest of you do it?

I use italics in mine, though Terry Pratchett uses speech marks for Agnes / Perdita (Perdita being a second personality of Agnes.

Up to you completely

Ive wanted to become a writer for some time but I havent got around to it, tonight I was just messing around writing stuff and I enjoyed it. Im also tryig to find a new hobbie and I think I have found it, so do you think I could join up?

At 4/9/06 12:04 PM, Dangan wrote: hey guys i just started a second BBS story, and coop83 is the main villain! :D

*plots evily*

I'm going to need a few tools for this:

A six year old boy. All 6-year olds see straight through the evil badguy's masterplan and thus I can make my plans childproof :)

That is the start of my demands... oh and One hundred million dollars! *giggles maniacally!*

-=A Weg Tó Bicuman Fréo=-

Outside a day, I feel something's in the air
I walk in, to slice a piece of bread, as I stand there watching the clouds float through the sky
I wonder when it'll happen, is snow on its way?
But it was something else... 'cos sun was shining this day

By a sudden, I hear this peculiar sound
Stone and metal, something not alighted by the sun

It is the wheels of a truck, driving to my house
I see it raise dust as my worry arise
I wasn't expecting this so soon

Out from the truck jumped a man in green suit
"Follow me", he said
I jumped up on the truck bed
This was not what God wanted...

-

Home, left without a note
Gone, invasion by plane and boat

Mourning sounds of the sea
Raising around me

Deep blue tear of sorrow
Crimson red lands, destination of tomorrow

-

I saw birds enclose the ship
They alluded to that sands were few on this beach...
...we'd debark

-

A running monster, a buzz for no soul
Created by man, both sides' goal

All in horizon, within reach that moment
All that we started, without end without the end

-

Soon agony haunted the place
Blood taunted our eyes with all that it glazed

Spirits lightening up the sky
No flattery for man, who did know why

Beauty won to a price
Of a none compensable size

-

Thinking about my family
Thinking about my country
Thinking about my own wishes
Thinking about peace...

For all that I cared
They could have me killed
I've had my share
Of this battlefield

Skirmish after skirmish
Cold as the bise
Woe and dismay
Coming our way

-

Victory was infered
But still was I scared

At this end I could see that life was fixed
In some distant dream, a future within grasp

My hopes began to distend
But my life was in a time gone by
I was not sure if I'd ever re-comprehend
Though what least I wanted, was to bide

Yearning for years of a past I had left
In tears and worry, my life victim of theft

From disorder by war
To daily routine
I'd never again
Be treated like a machine

...

My life was a purgatory
And death will be my release
There I finally will find
A way to peace...

At 4/12/06 08:36 AM, Coop83 wrote: That is the start of my demands... oh and One hundred million dollars! *giggles maniacally!*

What I'd do if I were an evil overlord

A list that you may find useful in your evil plots. Follow these rules to the letter and you can not be beaten!

Can I be your trusted Lieutenant?

I'm looking for someone who specializes in Dialogue writing. particularilty, Banter.

dr.beast@gmail.com

At 4/12/06 12:06 PM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote: What I'd do if I were an evil overlord

You found the list! Quick, no-one saw it, just ignore that post above.

At 4/11/06 10:31 PM, Aciid_nuk3r wrote: So do you think I could join up?

Sure ur welcome if u contribute

thanks, Ill do what I can, since I just started off writing.

At 4/13/06 08:05 AM, Aciid_nuk3r wrote: thanks, Ill do what I can, since I just started off writing.

What sort of writing do you enjoy? Poetry? Prose? Maybe you have a specific Genre you enjoy so much you just have to write about it

Maybe some of the few thousand posts already submitted could give you inspiration.

At 4/13/06 05:15 AM, Coop83 wrote:

At 4/12/06 12:06 PM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote: What I'd do if I were an evil overlord

You found the list! Quick, no-one saw it, just ignore that post above.

>:O treachery! :P
and yea tri-nitro if you're that evil then i have no choice but to make you lieutenant -_-

Dangan

oh by the way chapter 1 posted chapter 2 posted tonight at midnight

At 4/4/06 01:05 AM, FlashSpark wrote:

At 4/3/06 07:02 PM, -Clone- wrote: I'll post a link to it in a bit

In response to your sig pic, Republic Commando is my second most favourite game of all time. Second to Half-Life 2.

thanks I guess

Just a little story I thought up...

Robert awoke to the sound of his Aunt calling him down to breakfast for the third time that morning. Robert leapt out of bed and quickly got dressed and stumbled down the stairs. He was still rubbing sleep out of his eyes when he went into the kitchen.
It was the first days of the harvest so Robert was spending most of his days and a great deal of his nights working on his families’ plantation. There was always some new work to be done and not enough time to do it in; just yesterday he had to work late into the night on an old tractor with little success. To Robert, harvest had always been a time of troubles. If it wasn’t a broken tractor, it was terrible weather, or some other form of bad luck. Looking back he was surprised that there was a farm at all, but somehow, against the odds, they managed to keep the farm running.
Robert had worked on the farm since he was seventeen. When his parents had died, he moved to Chinoble to work on his uncles’ farm. He had been working there for eight years. Robert had planed to leave and see the world when he turned twenty, but some how he just never got around to leaving, there was always something that needed doing, and he felt that he couldn’t leave his uncle to do all the work.
Later that day Robert was helping to maintain the hand tools that would be needed to harvest the grain, when Uncle Vozech called Robert over. Uncle Vozech cried out over the rumble of farming equipment, in his deep Russian accent “we’re almost out of gas for the tractor. I want you to go into town and get the supplies on this list” he shoved a crumpled piece of paper in to Robert’s hand before driving away on the tractor. After Robert had finished getting the rust off the hand tools he was on his way into town on his bicycle. It was only an hour long trip into town but it was a beautiful day with the sun high in the sky and a light pleasant breeze coming in from the north. It seemed like the kind of day where nothing could go wrong.
It seemed like no time at all before Robert passed over the hill and the city came into view, highlighting the most prominent feature of the city, the large nuclear power plant. The Plant supplied power to all of the surrounding area and the building seemed to stick out of the city like a sore thumb. Many of his friends and family were employed at the plant but Robert had made a conscious decision not to work at the Plant. He did not feel it was good for the environment and he felt a loyalty to the farm. It was this loyalty that had stopped him from travelling. It was at this time that Robert found himself paused in thought, he found himself thinking about his ambitions to leave the farm, for some strange reason he felt as if he had squandered his opportunity to see the world. Then he heard a high pitched wailing sound coming from the power plant then it broke open like a hatching egg. It seemed to take forever for it to happen, it looked like a small fire, but grew suddenly, bathing the land in radioactive fury and leveling the city. The resulting shock wave blasted the area, destroying the farm, as well as sending Robert and his dreams of seeing the world, into oblivion.

At 4/18/06 12:46 AM, FlashSpark wrote: I was just making a random comment. I came to the thread to see what was new here, and then I realised I really had nothing better to say. So that just popped into mind. In all truth it's not my 2nd most favourite or whateever the hell I said.

M'kay. It was given a 10 in the sig reveiw crew. Anyway, does anyone know any good sites where you can post stories. Mines only accessible on the AAHC..... and you need membership.

Wow! It seems that I've been writing more often lately. Please post any reviews so I can improve my writing ability. Now without further ado...

Good Buddies

“I’ll find him even if it’s the last thing I do”. I had begun to regret those words as soon as I said them four weeks earlier and now that I had taken the case it seemed that I may have to make good on my promise.

My thoughts went back to a time when we were children. He had lived next door in the back streets of Halifax. Our families had been poor and, as kids, had been left to our own devices.
We shoplifted food and other necessities that children have to have and watched out for each other when dealing with the politics of the streets. However we had got through that time and I now had a wife and a wonderful daughter. I was doing well for myself and my friend appeared to have been doing well for his self too. But your past has a habit of catching up to you.

At the time it seemed like an open and shut case, a detective job, however, things are not always what they appear. I wait in the parked car in front of a run down laundry mat in one of the many slums, which have seemed to grow larger in the last few years, and sat listening to the police scanner. Any information would help. In this town it is pretty easy for someone to disappear, but staying hidden is something else. For one reason or another people always pop up to the surface eventually. This guy was in deep trouble, real deep; I might not be the only one looking for him, but God help me I’d better find him first. I put the car in gear and drive down the road. The windows are fogged up with condensation. I wipe a spot clear with my sleeve. I hate this time of year. It’s really late or in fact really early in the morning. I pull into the local watering hole, a favorite location for street ears and other’s who make a living from knowing the secrets of the street. If there is someone who knows where the guy is hiding they stand a good chance of being here. I was there for a better part of an hour before I’m told anything of use - just a rumor, an expensive rumor. I was told a story of a mob boss that managed to get on the bad side of the Don. Involved in too many crimes to go to the police for protection and on the lookout for anyone the Don might have hired. According to the informant he was meant to be hiding in the docks, as good a hiding place as any.

The docks are a dark place filled with secret comings and goings. On the surface they look abandoned, but at this time of night they take on a life of their own, filled with their own secret comings and goings. The fog was damp and cold and gave the few lights there were, an eerie glow. I parked the car, driving around the docks is a good way to attract attention. I quietly get out of the car. I try and deaden the sound of my steps on the cement, but everything echoes. It is unlikely that I’d find anyone with the information I seek just standing around especially at this time of night. I try to stay in the shadows, shying away from any windows, which are either broken or dark; however, it is better to remain cautious. I don’t want to raise the suspicions and alarm my quarry. I need to find him or my reputation of always finding those who don’t want to be found, will go right down the drain, not to mention my life would probably go the same way too. In this business reputation is everything.

This job requires a certain point of view. Viewing and analysis of every angle and having an investigatetory stance on every decision I make. It is necessary to be completely aware of every thing around me and anything that I miss could make the difference between failure and success.
Keeping that in mind, I scour the many ally’s and nooks that wind their way through the many warehouses that are dotted around the docks. One of them holds the man that I have spent so much time looking for. I search for a sign of life, anything out of the ordinary, something that would indicate someone living in the area. I move along the buildings, not finding anything of interest until I reach what appears to be a derelict fish processing plant with a light on at the back. I move cautiously towards the building. Suddenly, I hear a click of a gun behind me, a trap, “turn around” says a raspy voice “…slowly.” I do as the voice says and I get a good look at the man. It’s the man that I have been looking for but in my heart the last person I wanted to see. I see the face of a man who had power but now with a month’s worth of beard, which is ragged and unkempt. The lines of worry on his face showed a man, no longer holding any power at except for the gun in his hand .
“Hey Joe, I’ve been looking for you,” I said uncertainly. “Your family have been worried that something had happened to you” I’ve come with some money and tickets to get you out of here”
My friend’s eyes soften as he looks at me, but his gun is still pointed at my chest.
“I’m in too much trouble now, with all the wrong people, there is nothing you can do to help me”.
He lowered his gun. “I’ve made such a mess of my life Bill. I’ve enjoyed the riches of success, but have no friends. I’m so tired”.
As he relaxed and started to pace the floor. I took out my gun. I guess he was right he had no friends now and I had my reputation to keep.

Hello Guild. I haven't been here in a looong time. I've been writing alot, mostly poetry still but I've dabbled in prose however wretched my attempts may be. Here's the start to a story I'm working on:

The pungent scent of the green tea so firmly clasped in the rigid ceramic mug in my hand wraps itself around my head, swirling in soft silver tendrils into my nose, filling it with sweet aroma. Tea has always been said to be quite therapeutic, both its smell and taste, helping people to relax during times of stress. This is one such time; I need therapy.
Winters in Maine are generally bleak, cold, desolate, and suffocating. This one feels like spring. I think I prefer the cold and bleak, for I’ve never felt so secluded, or so lonely, as when I look out the kitchen window, and instead of seeing the soft white snow covering the earth and draped over every tree, bush, and edifice I see a barren, brown ground, the naked skeletons of trees, and the filthy, sand covered roads. This isn’t happy weather, nor does it breed happy thoughts, or contentment.
I just finished reading a few short stories by a Russian author whose name if mentioned here will confuse the ignorant and provoke apathetic remarks of astonishment and commendation from the learned. I want neither. I suppose you could say I’m humble. Hardly. I starve for attention and decoration more hungrily than any other man. If anything I’m afraid. How? I’m not entirely sure. It’s… difficult to explain. It’s also a departure from the reason I write this in the first place. Though it may be explained in the process, my aim is to tell of something else that happened to me, the memory of which just now has manifested itself into my mind, aroused by the tea and the anti-climactic prose of that great writer.

In early December, as the ground froze and small armies of soft ice crystals began to gain a foothold upon the uniform square panes of glass separating the increasingly cold outside from the warmer inside, I found myself with a deep longing, a yearning, a desire for companionship. I suppose most young men find themselves stricken with these feelings at some point or another during the course of their youth, though generally theirs are of a more perverse and unwholesome nature unlike to what I hoped for.
I hoped for fulfillment, true satisfaction, and happiness, of both a physical and a spiritual nature. I looked with disgust upon my peers, or the majority at least. They uttered numerous premature expressions of love and confused their lustful wants with deeper emotions they and I had no understanding of. I loathed them, their confidence, their charisma, their revelry, their success, all the while wishing for all of those things to be mine. Sometimes I’d climb the stairs to my room, slam the door behind me, my chest pounding not from exercise but from the emotions swelling up inside me and I’d stand there and tears would escape and make their way down towards my cheek, reddened from the excitement. I’d pound the ground, tear at my hair and clothing, screaming wildly, the pressure building up inside me until I didn’t care anymore, and invited pain. I’d smash things, glasses, bowls, my hand against the wall. I think I broke it once.
Nothing nibbles at your heart so terribly as loneliness. It bites, it twists, it wrenches at your heartstrings, straining them. I could have, if I wished, produced beautiful harmonious chords, but my isolation had so terribly dulled the tone, all that was left was a terrible cacophonous clamor.
__________________________________________
______________________________

I'll have to put the rest in another post.

Here's the rest so far:

As I walked my usual route to school, the same route I had walked so many times before, I felt, or rather, unfelt, something unusual. The wind whipped and tore, hurling small pieces of ice and snow into my face, my eyes filled with tears, I lost all sense of touch or feeling. And I enjoyed it.
How I wish I could experience that every day when I walk to school! Discomfort at its best. I reveled, I took my time, I paused, and I savored every moment of my agony. The wind heaved her sharp missiles at my exposed skin. I exposed more; I beckoned them on, I welcomed the pain. I’m not suicidal in the least, nor do I practice any form of self-inflicted mutilation. I’m not a sick person, well, I wouldn’t rule that out, but I maintain sanity. I believe that most people deem sanity as the state where one acts and judges in one’s best interest, never being a danger to oneself or anyone else for that matter. I believe it was in my best interest to endure such tortures; a taste of bliss enhances all subsequent unsatisfactory experiences.
My bliss ended abruptly upon arrival at school. Immediately I was thrown into the more tangible realm of sensation and effect. Throughout the day I feigned interest in numerous studies and subjects, “learning” alongside my peers. They disgusted me. I marveled that half of them possessed the necessary faculties to function on their own accord, or at least the latest trendsetter’s accord.
I floated through campus, period after period, unimpressed eyes scanning everyone and everything around me, searching for some faint glimmer among the many shadows conglomerated into one large, traitless mass. I was alone, walking through a field. The breeze was pleasant, partly cloudy, but I felt suffocated, and scorched.
And then, out of the edge of my eye, I saw a faint beam of light, and as I turned my face toward it the beam strengthened, and it was a brilliant beam. And she was a wonderful person.
“This” I thought, “Is the most lovely creature I have ever laid eyes upon.” The elegant manner in which she held herself, her soft eyes, her kind face, and indeed every aspect of this beautiful woman seemed to wrap itself around me, until I was absorbed, and all I could see, all I could think about, all that existed was her and I.
She was short, shorter than me at least, with lovely light hair enfolded marvelously about her, framing her wonderful face. Her jacket was white, like the snow that had yet to fall that winter, and I imagined it was soft like the snow too. Oh how I suffered that winter, for I love snow.
As soon as her gentle figure passed I found myself surrounded by shadows again. I was immediately enamored of her, and my thoughts were continuously turned towards her, that lovely Seraphim who graced my hell with steady step and pure heart.
That night, and the next day, and indeed the next few weeks I was infatuated with this lovely person. I wasn’t sleeping well at night. I never slept well at night. Now it was worse, as I’d make my self stay up late into the night, sipping steaming cups of tea, pouring over old volumes dredged from the musty and cluttered study in my house, located in a room adjacent to the dining area, where I have spent many evenings pacing, and pondering. Reading was one of the few pastimes of mine that could be enjoyed in the late evening, and one of the few that allowed me to temporarily forget who I am, which was an occasional need.

So for about three weeks I continued in this fashion, until Providence touched me with one of her glorious, glowing arms, and things started to move in my favour.
I remember I was sitting at the kitchen table; its muddy brown contrasted the solid white bowl of cereal that sat before me. ‘Another day of school, tired and alone,’ I thought. The phone rang, and when I answered a man’s voice said,
“Hello, what are your plans for this weekend?”
Something nearly imperceptible shook my heartstrings, and I wavered.
“Sorry, I’m busy, we’ll have to get together another time.”
“Oh, alright,” he sounded let down, “I’ll talk to you later then?”
“Sure, alright dad, goodbye.”
When I hung up the shaking stopped. I felt guilty, I felt terrible for lying to him. I wasn’t busy, I was never busy. I knew this was hurting him, and I didn’t do anything to fix it. It’s what he deserved, for everything he did; for- I’ll talk about that later.
At that moment though, he, the man I hardly knew, didn’t matter, nor did the mother I had only met a few times. All that mattered was her. I wanted to know her, since I didn’t know anybody else.

It's pretty shitty. But hey, I've always been more of a poetry person. I'd like to continue with it though.

I know I dont post as often as I should. However, I spend all my extra time writing my novel, which kills all my NG time. This summer should free up time though.

...because...

life without meaning
(that is, shattered rocks
in heaps of sevens
counted by working-child hands)
does not exist
FADE DOWN!
(sinking blank face with closed eyes
whistling the panic tune
and dyeing the waters
with iris)
heads up.
(HEADS UP! but less enthused)
knowing an answer
if only one nothing:
there dumps drinking bottles filled with apocalypse
(rich, pale youth
coloured, in real culture
idolizing crooked economic canes
of jail-bird hookers)
the real lies within the meaning
(voluptuous ethnic women
rocking on the creaking porch
of sugar-cane labour,
working the-soon-sore lips:

----------------(copper death-bed iced with envelopes
filled with burial money for the expecting) ----------------

their genitalia now red, and sore)
SMACK. Smack. SMACK.
in all this,
nothing exists.

the way you fashion

the way you fashion that dress
has languid nut capsules redound,
like slothful lone-minds kick legs
and retreat bends down,
pending duty pull off –

hemp at liberty of restricted covenant (
that the aggregate of crux cadere
with intention that cant hap exploited
exterior the guidon et perte de statut
), the locksmith is agog along turbulence.

– on collar greens platter,
suspended dankly equator
that advocates congenial avarices
to be explored like a box-cut cadaver,
though fashion is for the time being.

There is no time to find a bed

There is no time to find a bed,
a comfortable surface to swallow
our every motion – move left,
right hand down – falling from
the trickling saliva of my tongue
that is a sword in natural light
on your medicated, convex-mirror
lower lip that sprouts like a water lily –
a pink water lily.

Your brim runs down
the rugged terrain of my neck,
and the third fold of your mouth
greases the joints of my shoulder
for maximum productivity
in the sudden comfort of the table –
in that room,
next to the people:
the people who know how to make love,
but not make love with three lips
and a water lily.

The very edge of your sexuality
turns me over like one would a steak
trying to find that extra meat,
and it streams down the steeple-chase
of my spine, while the soft fingers
of a child rush around my hips
and curl at the edge of my bone,
sliding into the thin lines
of morning exercise and deliberate
attraction
that brings me to this room:
sounds of nature in my ear;
water in my ear;
three lips in my ear;
a water lily between my teeth.

The roof of a cave is moist
with movement like fingers through my hair.
This hair, and that hair.
Move up, and move down.
Climb the swollen tip of my -----,
and speak in an exotic tongue
that only my drowning ears can hear
in the depth of this makeshift bed
that swallows my movement.
Your third lip has found agony
in every part of this glass home –
that is, ecstasy
in every part of this rippled grove.

Inner thighs are like dams for the flowing
juices of nature, the pink cunt full of stars
that will never be touched, because
it is over, and it is simple…
no sacred ground broken on this provisional divan.
It was all found, beyond your three-fold
and beyond my roof that slopes in throat:
is one and one, and only one.
It was all found before rapture had my barricade
of drywall backed with two-by-fours
reveal the lust that was laden in the love.
Childish intimacy found in a simple task of eyes:
see the ache of a lip, and see the dam leak.