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Post by birdwhistle on Aug 26, 2007 11:40:21 GMT
Jay. You're such a fucking literary stud.
Hold the phone - glitterary.
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Post by Roxy on Aug 27, 2007 2:22:40 GMT
Everyone's pieces are so lovely. I'm happy this thread was created. I was going to post a short story but I think it is too long... I guess I'll go with some of my mediocre stream-of-consciousness pieces. [Grammar, etc. is not meant to be correct...with these kinds of pieces I just write what comes out first and I try not to change anything.]
Conversation
Connected from opposite stretches we untangled what was left Of heated days and buzzing nights. No more apathy to our relations, we are one of a kind. This can’t tweak in distress. It’s poor over there, but it’s poor in here, for all it’s worth. My guts are spilling and my mind is drilling the honesty. Can I trust you? On opposite ends forevermore the trust is sacred, Closed the door, latched the key, brought it with me Back to my mind, nevermore so poor.
It's about a girl I met from Bulgaria who changed my very depressive state of mind...
And, here is something I wrote when I was a tad delusional.
You got me frozen. Staring for hours and swivelling in chair and glaring and dancing in chair and clicking and legs anxiously shake, toes bounce on bar between the chair's legs. She's frozen. Occassionally rubbing eyes. Occassionaly gets up from chair to stop the glaring and throws herself onto bed to widen her eyes at a fascinating popcorn ceiling. Might toss one way, then the other, then another way. Occassionally rubs wetness from eyes, forgets it all happened, and sits and swivels on chair again. Swivel to the screen, blank, no surprise. Dig into mind, deep, no surprise. Goes so deep that its bottomless, but its blank other than chair and blank screen and bed. As deep as that can sink, they do, leaving voids above. Then there's the music. At least this'll fill up the bottomless pit to the two feet end. In words, in sounds, in notes, in chorus, she leaves chair, screen, glaring, bed. She goes home, place with no objects; place with words, place with heart. Home can pull her down. Home can bring her up. Home can wake her up, even when she's fast asleep. Home wakes her up, and there's wetness again, rubbing, bed, glare, screen, chair. She sinks into chair. Not laying down but eyes widen and smile smirks and she rushes off, letting the other in, and this is what happens, spending life like glaring swivelling bed ceiling glare home music sleep tight back to reality.
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Post by bluearrangements on Aug 27, 2007 18:36:27 GMT
ultraviolence- you're fantastic. I am weary of these sort of threads sometimes But you can write very well Beautifully in fact
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Post by jay on Aug 28, 2007 1:49:25 GMT
Jay. You're such a fucking literary stud. Hold the phone - glitterary. meryl, i actual luv u. thank you so much, compliments on my writing coming from you are just windingly nice to read. <4 ultraviolence- you're fantastic. I am weary of these sort of threads sometimes But you can write very well Beautifully in fact thank you lots and lots xx
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Post by sarah on Aug 29, 2007 15:30:02 GMT
here is a poem i constructed at the tender age of 12 in 2nd year English
With fruit conserve in corner one, So eating you is always fun, I do believe you've truly won The yoghurt race. Your entrails glittering in the sun Across my face
Oh I could eat you for my tea, I think you are the one for me, Your taste as good as it could be On any day. You're best as far as I can see In every way
And your cousin, the Muller Rice It really just could not suffice, You're just so wonderful and nice A lovely snack. You have a really good cheap price. So give me a Muller Strawberry Fruit Corner.
haha, that was mildly amusing for something done at that age.
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Post by abolishconfusion on Sept 4, 2007 15:52:45 GMT
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Post by Rhiflect on Oct 5, 2007 16:53:43 GMT
Hand Writing.
This is my black biro that i found on the floor in year 7. I love it it's my favourite but i fear it will run out soon. It's really fun though! I mean. The top is all chewed up. But aren't they all. It used to say 'papermate' but i scratched it off. Sorry, pen. It makes my writing pretty neat. It's comfy too. I'm proud of myself for keeping it. But really, we were drawn together. Goodbye, heart-topped biro. You've been great.
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Post by maeva on Oct 5, 2007 20:37:17 GMT
So I've first post it in the wrong topic I apologize for it. so here's a poem I wrote during my shinny-arty-romantic summer ! Again, excuse for my clumsy english.
To the boy who was in Corwall.
Sweet tears, which slowly disappear along your face, Salty tears delicately put in the corner of your mouth Taste it, take them in those faraway regions where you usually go. I never got near, and dreamed so much about it. Dear boy, I've frequentlty ran, head and feet naked, Before I feel, on this weak body, the chilliness of thoses unknown places. Kids of lukewarm and salty azur horizon, run into my cheeks, burn my eyes and dig my wounds. I've dreamed about endless sun, I'm standing here, in front of an accurate azur, Where I'm scrawling those few words, dear boy. Now that I've dried those tears of joy, my heart is constantly soaked.
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Post by cheshire on Oct 6, 2007 5:34:37 GMT
Ahah! So this is where this thread was hiding all this time!
Wilde Boys:
I, Clad in velvet, Sequined lining to the edge of my fingernails Top hat and tails A fox wound round your neck, where my arms should be. we smother our flaws in glitter. “our iridescence will last like the stars” I say, “ And our effervescence…”
But I am out of poetic words.
You are staring out the window And say, “the angels are crying up a storm today,” the water running off the window in rivers
“Good,” I reply, adding an umbrella to our menagerie.
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Post by allison on Oct 6, 2007 6:31:24 GMT
i like your writing, cheshire. chloe.
for real. srsly. some people say compliments but don't mean them, but i mean them and i mean this.
ehh i always type cleo instead of chloe
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Post by cheshire on Oct 6, 2007 7:42:41 GMT
Why thank you! You can call me cheshire or chloe or anything, I don't mind a bit what it is.
By the way, what is your icon picture from? It looks very cool, and familiar for some reason.
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Post by Rhiflect on Oct 6, 2007 14:37:28 GMT
Yeah, i always enjoy chesire's writing. Post more!
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Post by allison on Oct 6, 2007 16:21:05 GMT
Why thank you! You can call me cheshire or chloe or anything, I don't mind a bit what it is. By the way, what is your icon picture from? It looks very cool, and familiar for some reason. my icon (and the bit of writing beneath it) are from the movie wings of desire (der himmel uber berlin). its the brilliant german original of City of Angels. really really really good. but you have to see it a bunch cause it's like poetry, and almost all monologues. and in german. so watch it!
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Post by cheshire on Oct 6, 2007 16:53:13 GMT
I will- it looks really great. Yay for another excuse to watch foreign films!
(I would post more, but lately I've been writing these monologues and they are a mite long. All my poetry eventually ends up here, I assure you. *rolls gleefully in praise* )
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Post by flockofleaves on Oct 8, 2007 1:28:30 GMT
the bird in my stairwell
knots warm, crumpling ribs closely around its lungs, feathered wings and chest kissing closed windows with the exact flutter-and-stop of a lump in the throat, pinions breaking against the walls, against a promise of sky, with the exact splintered bending of a bus ride home alone.
eh? eh?
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Post by jay on Oct 8, 2007 15:34:18 GMT
beautiful, aflockofleaves. very beautiful.
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Post by flockofleaves on Oct 8, 2007 17:42:58 GMT
thank you!
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Post by cheshire on Oct 18, 2007 1:58:31 GMT
Another one, yes?:
Harlequin:
Do you remember that night we stood in the flames of your boyfriends photos? You with your fists clenched tight, biting your lip as the fire began to roar upwards I beside you, waving wildly, as if I could conduct the flames with my long fingers in a glorious crescendo. The scarlet roars and orange snarls combining, this destructive orchestra a distraction, burning in earnest to gain your affection.
minutes later it dies unaccomplished. In place of applause, a single tear slides down your cheek,, onto the charred face of the blue-eyed boy.
He barely managed to escape my love, and you know it.
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Post by Rhiflect on Oct 26, 2007 14:53:37 GMT
Wow..that's fantastic..i love the bit about the charred face.
You continue to astound me!
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Post by thornyking on Oct 28, 2007 3:05:44 GMT
That was beautiful! Such imagery. I love.
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