Rate/critique thread
You guys written anything new?
OC I wrote last year during a pretty lonely period of my life, I was care taking at my grandmothers who lives on a steep hill overlooking the city in practical isolation
>>8019725
the mew of cats releases hurricane
the villages darkness mars the horizon
heat haze is eddying over dead lamps
and in the mid of day she doesn't smoke
guess reverting your poem i made it have just as much sense :^)
>>8019725
>dusk of night
Please fuck me anon so that I can conceive your babies and then abort them for the benefit of humanity.
damn this silly english stressings, the second line should be
the village darkness the horizon mars
>>8019753
“Glory be to god. Glory be to god for he has given me the gift of life and leisure. Glory unto him. Glory unto him in his infinite wisdom for only he knew well to give me the gift of gold and power.
But curse you God. Curses upon thee for granting me gifts and plaguing me with weakness. The blame rests not on me for my shortfalls for you created me. You gave me the taste for the drink. You gave me the coin for the women. You gave me this endless greed and hunger for war that can't be satisfied. Curse thee on your golden throne scowling down upon me from utopia as if you didn't know I would succumb. Curse thee for taking away my wife and sons. Curse thee for everything and everyone.”
A meek voice from the other side of the checkered veil in the confessional booth whispered through the gaps of loosely woven strands of wood. “You must not blame god my son. He gives us trials to conquer. He wishes for you defeat temptation and greed and wrath.”
The man snorted a laugh that did not hide the malice within and said gruffly. “I'm old pastor. Ancient. I have faced all the trials he has thrown at me and defeated them. I carry the souls of slain heathen armies within my sword. I walked across the endless hell of dunes and sailed through Lucifer’s eye around the great horn. I sacked Jerusalem with Letholdus during the great inferno. I walked through lakes of Moorish blood after the fall of Lisbon. I've been struck with arrows and stuck with spears through the gaps of my sanctified plate only to come a hair away from my skin. I have cut down false prophets, adulterers, savages, pagans, deserters, Jews, Muslims, thieves, murderers, false kings, sell-swords, and beasts. I have lain upon piles of gold and drank with kings from gilded goblets engraved with ruby and emerald. I have been challenged to countless duels and won each one with ease. Lucifer shies away from me. Disease won't infect me. I have seen great chapels crawl from empty ground one brick at a time. I've seen all kings come to power only to become drunk with it. I watched the devil's scourge sweep across Europa and steal the life out of millions upon millions. I watched my wife and sons become afflicted with it. I watched them bloat up and bleed out black puss like all the others. I have won everything but lost everything. I have won god's favor in blood and he has made me his harbinger. His sword that never tires or ages. But he did not grant his gift upon my family. He did not extend his hand to my sons nor my house. He placed his curse upon seven of my brothers in arms as well and we all want out.”
The priest on the other side of the wooden veil remained silent and in his mind panicked thoughts of fleeing away from this insane man ran wild.
“Well father, what should I do?”
The priest cleared his throat to quell the rising fear crawling up from his belly. He spoke softly and slowly to keep his voice from quaking. “Pray.”
>>8019766
The man snorted once more and said. “Don't worry father I didn't expect you to have an answer but it didn't hurt to ask.”
The door to the confession booth opened and its occupant exited amongst the distinct metallic smashing sound of steel on cobblestone floor. The priest waited for the sound of the great doors of the chapel to open and close and for the sounds of steel boots upon stone to dissipate before taking out his cellphone. But he only stared at the glowing screen for there was nobody to call. No way to break the bond of confession. So he did the one thing that was left to him. He gulped down a handful of chlorpromazine and prayed.
How does one know the word?
To pin down such a song,
Like a thread of the Grecian lyre
The heavenly, musical bond
Uniting the sound and the fire.
Quiet,
Have you heard it too?
The ring of a thousand bells,
Resounding from here to there,
Ask the starling, from its bossom it tells
Of the majesty of your skin, your hair,
The ringing possessed by only the purest beauty.
My hands may grace the lovely curve,
But my soul can never know,
What love hides beneath it.
What functions may my senses serve,
If the warmth your skin shows,
Betray the warmth your heart bequeath it.
'I started wandering if there was such a thing as a perfect work of art, of a perefect art form, song and dance, poetry or theature, then i figured it out, for men, it was sex, reaching orgasm balls deep, casual fucking, the cat and mouse game of finding a women to fertalize, our cocks the paintbrush, balls the palette and the inside of a cunt our canvas, there was no escaping our primal drive... I began to regret taking the ketamine, my skull blew open like a melon being hit with a malett - maybe I was the pussy and The world was fucking me, or maybe time is the cock and matter is the receiver. whichever way you looked at it, it didn't matter, I wasn't leaving this ship and the ship was stuck in a bottle, everyone getting smarter and dumber at the same time.'
>>8019780
Dont try to be Hunter S Thompson. He was a man with loads of insight despite his drug use; you appear to be one with very little insight because of it.
For me the true beauty and attractiveness of art as a whole is that the underlying the goal of an artist, especially one true to there experience is merely to attain or create something that will remove the need for constant and personified self-expression without fear of being truly rejected, my ideology is not the rule but the exception, if a painter expresses the loss of his wife with an oil soaked canvas or a writer whos just met his future with words on a page he has essentially been his own therepaist, he has come to terms and materialized a painful truth or a euphoric moment, even if the work is rejected it is the work rejected and not the artist, and the work rejected not because of a personal and ungrounded judgment but because the individual praising or critizising the expression could not find a connection with it in himself, Art forces us to judge ourselves, to look into our own lives and makes us realize we are not alone - it is often said we are all one, bullshit, we are not all one we are all seperate, so seperate infact we do everything we can to ignore it, the only connection we have with one another is via expression even at its most primal level, art carries us and helps us accept the fact that despite our vast economic or physical or spiritual differences we all experience the same fundamental and primal emotions no matter what we believe and we are powerless to stop it, the animal within us, without art our hundreds of thousands of years of existence ammount to a simple and sad truth, we are merely trying to outrun our own nature' to such an extent we have managed in a minut percentage of our time convince ourselves we are not of the earth and are something greater and instilled fear into ourselves, fear of something we cannot escape, fear of something we dont know,for over 30,000 years we have used art to tell storys and communicate, before we knew of fire we knew of dance, before we knew of words we knew of images and etchings..
>>8019780
The graphic sex imagery and harsh language just seems contrived in this piece.
>>8019801
This is so, so difficult to read and extract any meaning from. Please use full stops. Write in actual sentences. It's impossible to follow your train of thought. I tried to extract as much meaning from this as I could but it seems like the ideas are not that amazing anyway.
Just try and express your ideas clearly in simple language.
Also using male as the default gender for hypothetical people as you did is very outdated and fedora tier cringe worthy.
>>8019742
It's marginally less bad.
"Share with me the sun, I forget sometimes it's yours" is written in the corner stall of the girls washroom and she can hear laughing people come in and laugh some more before dissapearing through a door she forgot was there. Existing and then not existing into the bar. Share with me the sun, I forget sometimes it's yours. She reads it again and once more through wet eyes.
What the fuck does that even mean?
The florescent lights are the kind they'd use in a morgue and she can't stop thinking about how the death-coloured light makes the yellow wall in front of her look like corpse flesh. Sandlewood, cherry-blossom pink, corpseflesh. She was in a morgue now, looking at the bodies. A police officer was there too, staring at her and waiting for her to say something
"Miss?"
She tells the officer that she can't identify the body.
She pukes on the wall and stops thinking to herself in third person. I unlatch the stall and hear shuffling outside so I quickly push it open.
"Anna are you okay? I heard you like, talking to yourself" She's tripping balls.
"Yeah?" So am I.
"Lets get the fuck out of here, lets go, everyone at the table hates this place." Her pupils were dinner plates.
"I just puked on the most abstract inspirational quote ever"
"What did it say?"
"Something about the sun"
