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The act of writing is an act of optimism. You would not take the trouble to do it if you felt it didn't matter.
--Edward Albee


No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader.
--Robert Frost


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Nov. 20th, 2005 @ 07:33 pm cliches
if you use a cliche that sounds good in a poem, does that automatically make the poem bad? or just make the person feel really bad when someone tells them that? :(
About this Entry
saphireruby:
Oct. 28th, 2004 @ 09:14 am Please help me out...
Quality of life: creativecreative
Ok, here's the deal...I've recently gotten a pretty big urge to write a samurai story. I guess it has to do with my class or whatever, but yeah, I wanna write one. I thought some stuff over, and I've come to several options that I could do. One is a straight samurai story, set in feudal Japan, but much research would be required to get things right. Another is a samurai story with mystical elements, in a fantasy-esque version of feudal Japan. Option 3 would be a totally mythic fantasy story, based in a fantasy world, creating a samurai-like class of warriors. Not much research required, still a bit, but I can create lots of it on my own. Option 4 is the final scenario I thought of, which is a futuristic post-apocalyptic story, where there is a samurai class, but in a new world, like a revival of old ways? I may try to do all of them eventually, and may just start writing to see where it goes, but I really want some guidance here...so let me know what you think...please, all who read this, respond...thanks very much...
About this Entry
Rob
neverendingdark:
Oct. 8th, 2004 @ 06:09 am *sigh* (and so Rob isn't the only one)
Quality of life: sicksick
Aural pleasure?: Whatsername - Green Day
Okay, I wrote this poem about a week ago because my class was really boring. Obviously it's not about the class but, yeah. I need feedback. Mostly on the repetition and such (is it bad or good?). Also, is the first stanza too unlike the rest of the poem? I was told it's visually interesting, true or no? Do the contractions seem inappropriate? The poem isn't all that good, but I really like the end, so I'm trying to fix it. And sorry about the lack of capital letters; I haven't figured out how I'm doing that yet. Thanks, in advance, cause I know you'll give me feedback. 0:)
_________________________

the doll asks “where?”
instead of “who?”
am i

i belong to you
so i'm defined
by you

i rely on your love
to give me peace
of mind

if i'm not with you
i am no one
at all

next to you
or in your arms
is me

away from you
and without you
is nothing

there is an us
and a you...
no me

please be with me
because, with you,
i am
_________________________

Oh, and feel free to suggest a title if you think of one. Thanks again! :)
About this Entry
taintedreverie:
Oct. 6th, 2004 @ 11:12 am poetic moment...I hope...
Somewhere, a leaf flutters,
and somewhere, a butterfly
is suicidal. Nothing to believe in,
nothing lost inside a little jar
on a shelf, place for intermittent
dreams to rest for awhile.
There’s just nothing left for it,
all the flowers are wilted,
all the nectar has turned to poison,
all the sunlight has dried up.
Just the dark things that it hates,
the splotches of bad memories,
sour feelings, spoiled emotion.
Nothing left to live for,
nothing to flutter away toward,
nothing to love.
The butterfly has given up.
Nothing to believe in,
when belief in something, anything,
can balance life and death.
Nothing to believe in,
when belief is everything.
About this Entry
Rob
neverendingdark:
Sep. 24th, 2004 @ 10:28 am more of "Off a Cliff"
Quality of life: creativecreative
Aural pleasure?: nil
Here's a bit more of my latest creation, a story that is taking a VERY long time to come to fruition, but it's getting there. It took a morbid turn that I had not been expecting, but some of my stuff tends to get like that. One day I'll post my one act play, "Sixty-Eight Kisses", and you'll get a little more of a taste for my mind. Back to the topic at hand, for this story (simply titled "Off a Cliff" for now) I would like and welcome any and all feedback...so enjoy...



As he fumbled to find the perfect words to say to her, Raina drove them both off of a cliff. He was not on the phone with her, no, nothing as lucky as that. He was right beside his raven-haired lotus blossom, sitting in the passenger seat that had become his the moment he met her. That had been two years ago, or a short eternity, filled with all the violent passions and cobalt arguments that great lovers eat, breath, and fix on like desperate smackstarving junkies. Wounds had come right along with the orgasms they shared, but he and Raina would not have had it any other way. They thrived on conflict, and battle kept their hearts beating for and craving each other. Now, after the ups, downs, cuts, and scrapes they have lovingly inflicted on each other during the war of their relationship, Raina had changed strategies. She had apparently adopted a scorched-earth policy, and practiced it with the zeal of a radical terrorist. Too bad it was her A-bomb, he thought, rather calmly for a man who was riding a ton and a half of metal straight down to a twisted sadist’s pillow of jagged rocks that lay waiting below the cliff for a warm and wet, or even fiery, embrace.
“Um, dear,” he said quietly, his words probably the most perfect thing anyone could say. His eyes wandered to her face, and he couldn’t help but notice that her hair was flying straight up.
“You wanted to play, didn’t you? Well, game fucking on, lover,” was the response, smoothly venomous but soft, as the windows were closed and they didn’t need to shout over the rushing air. His ears began to tingle, and he closed his eyes.
He struggled to remember what he had done this time. Sure, the transgressions weren’t exactly rare, but had he really done enough for her to go this far? Even the time she had caught him with the girl from the video store, all eighteen years of her, when she had come home early from work, that wasn’t this bad.
He closed his eyes, the start of a blink.

There he had been, standing up while she was on her back on the table, her legs sticking up in a V so that from Raina’s view it looked almost as if he had wings or an extra set of absurd arms. Oddly, he remembered that the video store girl kept saying “corner pocket, corner pocket” as he fucked her rugburned against the velvet.
“Running the table, eh?” and he almost shit himself when he heard that voice behind him, the anger slowly leaking from it as only Raina could let it. He turned around, gave her a half smirk, and made some asinine excuse or another, exactly what he couldn’t remember. With video store girl still between his legs, he watched Raina walk over to the stick rack, pick up her favorite weighted cue, and walk back to him. Video store girl only offered, very meekly at that, “I’m sorry, I had no idea.”
“It’s ok, honey, not your fault, he’s always been partial to the young, dumb ones,” and with that, Raina swung the cue at him. She knocked him down, and nearly knocked him out, but he retained enough consciousness to see Raina’s “release” on video store girl. The cue came down again and again, and after a several hits blood began to spatter on his face. Eventually, the cue broke, but Raina kept on getting over her anger. When she turned back toward him, her professionally understated white blouse and grey jacket were covered by crisscrosses and splotches of video store girl blood.
“Well, that was certainly…invigorating,” Raina said as she licked some of video store girl from the corner of her mouth. Slowly, almost slithering over to him, she crouched and straddled him. With her nails, she tore several rough, jagged gashes in his stomach. He cried out, and then began to softly coo with his next breath as she licked the cuts.
“Sometimes, you make me so fucking horny,” Raina whispered, and video store girl was still all over her and the pool table as they fucked.

He opened his eyes out of the blink. Still falling. He blinked again.
About this Entry
Angry Commie Kitty
neverendingdark:
Sep. 14th, 2004 @ 12:18 am First post, a beginning
Quality of life: contemplativecontemplative
The following is just something I wrote today, it could be the start of a story. It actually all came off of the first sentence, which I thought of last week, and I finally used it as a prompt. Thoughts, comments, suggestions are all welcome, as it is just a very early beginning.


As he fumbled to find the perfect words to say to her, Raina drove them both off of a cliff. He was not on the phone with her, no, nothing as lucky as that. He was right beside his raven-haired lotus blossom, sitting in the passenger seat that had become his the moment he met her. That had been two years ago, or a short eternity, filled with all the violent red passions and frigid cobalt arguments that great lovers eat, breath, and fix on like desperate smackstarving junkies. Wounds had come right along with the orgasms they shared, but he and Raina would not have had it any other way. They thrived on conflict, and battle kept their hearts beating for and craving each other. Now, after the ups, downs, cuts, and scrapes they have lovingly inflicted on each other during the war of their relationship, Raina had changed strategies. She had apparently adopted a scorched-earth policy, and practiced it with the zeal of a radical terrorist. Too bad it was her A-bomb, he thought, rather calmly for a man who was riding a ton and a half of metal straight down to a twisted sadist’s pillow of large jagged rocks that lay waiting below the cliff for a warm and wet, or even fiery, embrace.
About this Entry
Rob
neverendingdark: