Mitch

[size=1] The first poem was well done. I read it a while back, but never commented when I was planning to. It shows a good use of diction (word choice), and all that good stuff. I seem to like this second one more though. Although there's some textual errors--such as the possesive of "it" doesn't have an apostrophe s, but is just "its," and lightning doesn't have an "e" in it I believe, and other such things. But those are fine. I actually think they add to the poem. Overall, for the length of this second poem, it reads well, flows well, doesn't have much starting, then stopping, then starting. So I thought it worked well. I liked it better than everything else I've read from you so far (which probably isn't too much). Keep writing! That's the best advice I can give to a fellow poet.[/size]

[size=1] I thought it was nice, and simple. It didn't actually do too much to me, because the words didn't really mean anything to me when I read them. I especially didn't like how you ended your last line--"dizie"? Dizie? :p Keep writing, you'll get better. This is a lot more decent than some other things I've seen. Most of it is like this: i want to die kill me die me kill me i want to die kill me die me kill me i want to die i hate you i hate me i hate everything and i like trees and bees and stingers that sting and i hate me i hate you i like trees i hate you i like trees i hate you i like trees. lol.[/size]

[size=1] You show good diction (word choice), good use of images, metaphors--aka the things I like in writing. Some of your poetry is hard to follow, it doesn't really give as much narration as there could be--but this is fine. It is fine, because: Poetry should not mean-- but be. I don't care if a poem means something. Most poems do have a meaning if you want them to--while at that same moment, they don't if you don't want them to. As for your poems in general, I'm too lazy to go through them one-by-one, but I can tell you they work well, and they seem to come from your heart, not your head, which is what matters. You seem to like the word blood, and use it often, just like me at times. Excellent writing, as Drix said. Keep writing--this is only the smallest, most tiny part of your poetic abilities. Me myself, I'm still a baby in a womb when it comes to poetry and writing it. But day by day I am fed by the outside of my womb--the world--and what I write about it. Keep writing, keep writing, keep writing, keep writing.[/size]

[size=1] It's nice, simple, rhymes. It works. Personally, I don't like the use of ellipsises [the "...," showing words that weren't typed), because I think it detracts from the overall flow of the poem, causing you to stop suddenly as you give the break in the words to get what an ellipsis does. It does this to me, anyway. It's just something I personally prefer--so don't worry. Yeah. It works nicely.[/size]

[size=1] Pointless, inane, spammy threads such as this aren't allowed. You seem like you're going to be a nice new memeber here, so I'd ask you to go to [url=http://www.otakuboards.com/forumdisplay.php?s=&forumid=69]The Otakuboards Information Center[/url] and read the rules. It will say right there that posts like this aren't allowed. Thread closed--and hopefully you'll become savvy to things around here. I like your name, by the way. But actually, it's spelled "crucifix," not with an "s." Heh.[/size]

[size=1] Ending is too short in comparison with the longness of the other lines. But I still think it works well enough.[/size] ________ [b]brain feels black coma gonna be a nebula[/b] brain feels black coma gonna be a nebula gun steeled to head and pulling trigger gonna die gonna bled gonna fall gonna dread gonna fall gonna be gonna go gonna see gonna go gonna call gonna dream gonna never matter gonna never be free. brain feels black coma gonna be a nebula nebulae me loving lover down the stars bleed me black bleed me down far brain feels black coma gonna be a nebula gonna destroy with creation gonna build so great gonna kiss the bleeding mouth of your soul gonna be there for you when you're gonna drone. brain feels black coma gonna be a nebula sparkle shine black hole white as divinty divine angels seem to piss from all over and create this grime surgically removed my brain today looked at it with my eyes as they blackened with shame bled all over you bled all over the stairs bled all over blamed fell over couldn't support physical distance felt depraved looked at my brain saw a bullet's crater looked at it saw black coma broken there comet cometual cometing flair burnt brains burnt scare brain was peachy color peachy dead lookin over lookin smokey head musta shot myself in some way musta hit some nerve bullet hole's still there as i surgically placed back in my brain bleeding bullet hole was small but big but mighty hurting but mighty pain feels broken feels chained feels powerful and some of me is gone taken with that bullet shot oblong taken with me swallowed gone like abyss like black spiders crawled bliss like shot hiss ignorance ignorants ignored unknown any longer never knew nothing never knew anything shoot me clarice clarice you're so pretty clarice silence me silenced silent want to rip out my brain want to shoot you shoot it all shoot it drained sick happy smiley raw gore emblaze hearts pumping hearts' gravity bleating bleating bleat bleat bleat can you hear it i can hear it i can hear it brain feels black coma gonna be a nebula brain feels black coma gonna be a nebula brain feels black coma gonna be a nebula a nebula a nebula gonna be a nebula.

[size=1] It's funny you all seem to like the poem so much considering I wrote it in less than a minute.[/size] __________ [b]Can You Put My Hands Away[/b] can you put my hands away, can you leave me alone. can you put my hands away. little child on a swing the steel click-clacking the air the breeze open happy smiles and happy dreams the sand underneath on his shoes dusty, faded, used. little child on a swing the steel click-clacking the air the breeze carefree, blown around and with ease, kites fluttering, flying in the sky, fluttering butterflies no screams. a father out-handing his child and the thoughts all reprieved. a child's thinking innocence believe. can you put my hands away, can you leave me alone. will you put my hands away, will you leave me here. a child at school smiling and glasses on his face, shutting away the world the lenses erase. a math problem staring, the thing in his face. he can't do it he can't be doing this. he disappears without a trace. in his mind, the place the memories that mean nothing, but comfort him and make him grace. another math problem, cold and calculating, staring him in the face. will you put my hands away, will you leave me alone. can you go down to nothing, can you end what you hold. can you put my hands away. a house being packed up, friends being left, everything being gone, leaving to go somewhere else. a child in a car, bored and there, playing gameboy, breathing air. a child passing his time, playing a small electric battleship game given to him by someone dear. will you put my hands away, will you leave me alone. can you release the pain, can it all go away. can you put my hands away. a child in a city that is smaller, walking alone into his new school the very first time, very nervous, shaking and grind. no friends here, none yet. but soon the child will find. a child making two friends, them being there, and he to have them, and them to have him. will you put my hands away, will you leave me alone. a child, changing, goes to school after school, sitting there learning the learns of a fool, falling down and falling there, graced grace, and that that's fair, when nothing is nothing, and nothing there. can you put my hands away, can you leave me alone. a child changes, grows, matures, ages, wises, metamorphs, sees, glances, eyes, knows, but doesn't cry. changing, he sees the truth, and sees its lies. a maggot turning into a fly-- a balloon full of helium emptying whole-- a clown losing his make-up and smiling even so-- a wound with scars opened whole-- a hobo down in the steam washing clothes-- the child adorned with everything loses nothing, seeing a twisted shatter, the puzzle that is life. like glass, the pieces hurt and prick, and like glass it breaks smaller and smaller as he beats it down. can you put my hands away? can you leave me alone? can a child be brandished, and crushed so low. can you put my hands away.

[size=1] You take things [i]way too damn serious[/i] lol. That's about all I have to say.[/size]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Dan L [/i] [B]How about we call it "materialism day"- and Christmas can be an optional thing for those who actually want to go to something religious. After all, no-one expects you to celebrate the Jewish holidays, so I see no reason why you ought to celebrate the Christian ones with their proper names when it's nothing other than for the sake of being materialistic. At least, that's mostly the case in the UK. In America maybe everything's a whole lot more perfect.. [/B][/QUOTE] [size=1] It is like this here. I am given presents even though I don't deserve them nor do I want them at this point. I told my parents I didn't want anything and they said I had to get something. It's nice to get things, but it's also selfish. Might as well be selfish rather than giving it seems.[/size]

[size=1] I like the first three banners the most. They seem like you in your most focused perceptions. Mundanity should just be spelled as Shy, and the word itself reinvented to an amazing word which shows just how beautiful and eloquential the mundane is. I've always liked your banners--and there's not much else to say. It was a taste of nostalgia to see you with your old banner and avatar. It makes me remember that I thought you might've looked like your avatar way back when, when you hadn't posted your picture. That's about all I could say anyway. Thanks for posting them again--I missed seeing them in a sort of nostalgic way.[/size]

[size=1] He put The Raven Bart there because Poe rocks and he knows it. Long live Poe's work![/size]

[size=1] Crazy White Boy will [i]forever[/i] be a far greater persona and name than the aforementioned harass that is [i]Charles[/i]. For Charles is a banal name, overtoned with harsh realities that lie in the net of the monarchist societals that are England and its Kings and Queens. Anyways, nice banner. It commemorates a nice event indeed. Now we await Clitorus and CrimSan Spid Der's banishment. Mwhahaha. Or something like that anyway. [/size]

[size=1] I want the Christ to be taken out of mass. Christ-Mass=[strike]Christ[/strike]mass. What did I ask for? 1)Book with HP Lovecraft's works. 2)A book that contains all of e.e. cumming's poems--it's a very huge book. 3)A book containing all of Poe's works. 4)Silent Hill 1, Silent Hill 2, Silent Hill 3. 5)Final Fantasy X-2. 6)All of Dr. Seuss's books. 7)Some [b]high-quality[/b] headphones. And--instead of those, maybe just a guitar. But I know my parents instead got the things listed above--well, at least some--because I don't even want it all. I don't even want anything to begin with. My parents also laughed at me when I told them I wanted all of Dr. Seuss's books. They told me I need to grow up--because those books are for little kids. No they aren't. [i]They[/i] are the ones that need to grow up. So they refused to get me those books--but I'll get some with my money if I get enough. I actually don't care about Christmas this year too much in general. Usually I'm so happy when it is Christmas and wait until it comes with envy and want and desire. Not this year--at least not to as acute of an extent.[/size]

[size=1] First off, properly spelled, it would be [i]FURBIES[/i]. But that's the anal speller feceing in me. It's just common take that when there's a word with a y on the end--such as baby--that you add "ies" instead of just an "s" to the end of it to make it plural. Babys just looks wrong, and so does furbys. It should be babies and furbies. As for these things--I think they're annoyances. Enough said.[/size]

[quote]there it comes?the unrequited alone that has no name the thing which seeks but has no brain. it comes in irrelevancy and shouts in the rain pouting nothing?feeling all the same. time to bury the effigy?bury it deep bury it where no one can keep. make it shout, shake, and reel. peel like skin, flaky but slim. death to hang that keeps us all alive as we drive and scream: "Hallowed be thy name." death to hang that keeps us all alive as we drive and scream: "Hollowed be thy name." place your hand upon the way? make it to salvation, the place we feign. what if reality is reality, and fiction is rang? the ephemeral telephone that answers with a bang, a drawn-out speech to kill what thinkers say. no reason, just blame. "Hello this is fiction, hello dear sir? i wonder what reality needs to blur, when he-who-must-not-be-named is here. he-who-must-not-be-named, his son died for you? the bleeding sealed the pact live for him, live with act." And quite aside?with sniding voices' eyes? "I am fiction, and the difference between i and reality? the difference is that i must be real. beatific plane lies far away? the place where you want to grace? the place where you want to be! do you turn your back from this? from these? without nothing there is nothing to appease? think about, think about it hard." and fiction hangs up and the line is blearing hell the moaned damnation that expels. happy-handed and hanged life is a felon man getting caught over and over again with the same reasons against him against him. the police officer, fat and obese, with large hands and a doughnut talks to life: "Come man, why you always break the la'? why you gotta do something that ain't good at reason to it now? why you gotta be so seasonal and so getting into trouble? i think you're scared of what's going to happen now?aren't you. you're gonna be to court, then you're gonna be in jail, then maybe you're just gonna get the 'lectric chair and die? it's gotta be something like that, sall right though?sall right." and the officer, fat and obese, the rule-man fat with power, he eats his doughnut, and chains life in chains. saying that life doesn't need to be having so much fun, but he needs to be hanged. all the people in this society play are actors and they sigh and exclaim "Oh dear god!" "Oh dear me!" "That's just life, you have to do it!" "Don't ask me!" and walking, those without their chains? those chains gained from rule-men fat with power? they just laugh at all the people in the society play. when the curtains open each day, the faces opening, going about their ways, the people that really matter are death-eyed slaves. and they just laugh at all the people in the society play? and they say things they say: "Working?working is for the insane." "Interdicted, we fall framed." "Ashes, ashes, we all fall down." the smart ones?the ones that know they say these things they just laugh at all the people in the society play. the society people are horrid actors, and they smile with no face. and they shuffle all over the place? going here and there, there and here? going round and round and round weird. exclaiming there's nothing to fear. life is a piece of paper on the bench at the park in the middle of the trees writing itself on the blank white as seasons changed?the leaves fell from the trees and life still wrote what he believed. and he believed in living and love that was true? writing special arrangments to geniuses? the ones who knew. life is a rock rolling endlessly down a hill? and as the ages go by, the hill keeps growing. the rock keeps getting smoother, softer and less there, while the hill gets greener, more fair. life is a tree growing from the ground eating the sun up and being quietly sound. his leaves grow each year, and each year they are found? on the ground. life is a kiss being patted on lips the feeling that captured all?and that captured this. the red things that are so kind, the things that are most beautiful? the natural finds that were found. nature's nature abound. life is you life is me but life isn't anything. life is you life is me the way you move the way you breathe. life is you life is me how i feel and how i see. life is you life is me the way we cringe as we bleed. life is you life is me and it's meant to just be.[/quote] [size=1] Above is a poem I wrote last Sunday I believe it was. The basis of the poem tells in a kind of postitive (which isn't like me) way what life is to me. Life isn't anything to me and it's everything at once--and I'm so mixed that I don't care what life means to me. Life's meaningless if you look at it hard enough, and I've gotten to the point where I think it shouldn't be guessed what life is about--because in essence that isn't what life is about. Life is about living and being--not wondering what life is. In accord with this, here's a more negative poem: [quote] at church we worship our lord jesus on the cross we cup our hands and eat his bread and wine tasting the mechanics of divinity that is divine then we all take our black goats and kiss them on the head we eat the babies until they are dead baptized little barbarian in his chains came to the pool at the crucible of the church to pray brought by mother and father today brought to be accepted the tribal way the chrism oil will cover you it is fragrant you have just been born from your womb to stave welcome baptized little barbarian in chains at this church we worship our lord jesus on the cross don't believe? just read the bible and its marching scribes the marching of the pigs will eat you up in time babies have wide eyes and know nothing they cry at their mothers and fathers when they want they are selfish and brats they deserve depravation and seclusion tender hearts and brains are so easily allusioned so easily pollutioned we eat babies until they are dead humping riding we give them life instead the nature is our answer because lord jesus said the nature is our answer because god gave us and for him we bled the marching of the pigs will eat you up in time you sweet fragile meticulous chiseled swine it is too bad that the jaws will hug you and gnaw you bones too bad you will emerge engorged with fear and dread they expect you to be dead we eat babies until they are dead humping riding we give them life instead the single cells augmenting skeletal shred when they grow too big to breathe young and small we eat them and gnaw until they are dead the new maggot that emerges has no wings the new maggot that emerges has no skull it is bare with its snout and tooth it is bare with its empty head and alone jesus will deliver you when you are grown when you grey and rot to dilapidated drones then the plastic earth will eat your bones and through them the single cells will augment a new skeletal shed and through them you will be dead the marching of the pigs will eat you up in time you will realize how meaningless it is to survive and that the best thing there is to do as a human is to stay alive my baby bones are achin down the lines my baby bones are achin all over my eyes oh catch me from the storms my baby bones are achin down the lines my baby bones are achin all over my eyes[/quote] I refute God and show my anger towards being baptized as a child when I couldn't comprehend religion--as well as say that we go about our lives nourishing children, and then when they grow up we tear them to pieces and make them go to the real world and see its ugliness, nourishing them thus for nothing. Here's another negative poem:[/size] [quote]the brain is more powerful than you will ever know. my bones flew to the sky. they cracked like fire. it was beautiful. angela's ashes indeed. ashes look like flowers to me. like dead roses. and dead dreams. the brain is more powerful than you will ever know. words are ashes. indeed. little thistle made up of thorns that webs together. these are words. why love love when it's only a word and why live life when it's absurd. because it's beautiful. that's why. all a-crickly and a-crack and i will scream my yawp all over the world. just like old saint walt. and no one else. civil-disobedience take me away to the pond a game of where's waldo. i know where he is. in the ashes of words. in the dirt with the worms. and thoreau is gone in them. ashes is a word that just seems to mean what it means. just like rain pitter-pattering or bats grimmer-grammaring. ("no no no, a verb has to be.") it sounds like something that sucks life. what a vacuum of space. i won't waste my time? i don't have it to waste. just go to college. get erased become a pencil and write in graphite and grey. and up in the sky i'll look at me from my flubby skin wondering who would win? the bleeding hearts, or the snobs. something like insanity. and doorknobs. each opens a door for another and bleeds open to another. the snobs and the bleeding hearts, the queen of spades. or maybe, if the schoolteachers feel gay, the king of queens, with a smirk that says, "i know what you want, babe." and so do i. you want ashes. dust to ashes and hashes. exclamation points with commas for heads from being cut open wide and dead. a trail mix of legs, things that are only for walking but nothing gained. those are what the grimmer-grammaring bats want to do. and i'm just as brainwashed as a cup of stew. all full of rotten vegetables and yellow blue. sick with fact, and sick in fact, i'll sail away. go to providence. my home away from home. my brain. the brain is more powerful than you will ever know. and my hand? it is a tendon of my brain. and my leg? it is a crutch for me in vain. and me? i am a slave. [/quote] [size=1] I go to say that nearly nothing in this world is absolute, and that the brain is where I feel most alive, and that I will go about my life getting more and more brainwashed by society to the point where I won't even feel anything any longer. To the point where I'll be a slave. I also say things about grammar, and how I think it's useless--another organized interdiction. That was the main basis of the poem, actually. Anger towards people and censoring writing as a personal tool which can be amazing when utilized so.[/size]

[b]lay the egg[/b] why did the chicken, that clucking thing? why'd he lay the egg? and why'd he breed? which came first, the chicken or the egg? no one knows, they just say. and no one should know. why did the alligator, that reptiled creed? why'd he lay the egg? and why'd he breed? which came first, the alligator or his egg? no one knows, they just say. and no one should know. why did the ant, that little tweed? why'd he give to his queen? why'd they breed? no one knows they just say. and no one should know. why'd the human, the little greed? why'd he believe; breed? no one knows. they just say. and if no one says and no one should and no one does it and no one would then why must there be these realities? which came first, the chicken or the egg? and which died first? the chicken who layed the egg. the thing we seek to claim when we needn't need that nor needn't need to blame. [b]fog[/b] soft piano strokes soft strings in the way going bout and downward in the haze. fog me foggy day foggy fog that fogs haze will you adapt? chameleon your way? will you adapt or will you fall and be broken and not saved? all is fog, all is fade and i'm in it and i'm drained. all is fogged, all is fade? and what is this? what is this i see? it is you? the one who seeks to be; the one who seeks to make me. break me tear me in pieces. hearts' fogs the things of haze the encapturing blaze. the inability to see the inability is me fogging fog that fogs and grieves. bury me now bury me under ground in the soft whores lips' the place where all ceases and only the world goes to exist the ground is so soft?so serene the fog?the breathe and may i fall, and may you sieze.

[size=1] I'm seeing it tonight at 9:05 with my friend. I'll post what I think here when I get to it. Maybe some long, rambly post. Long rambly posts rule.[/size]

[size=1] Not getting one. It's just a stupid ring that symbolizes nothing to me, anyway. I hate my school, and I've never liked school, and I have much better things to waste my money on than some stupid ring. I feel like this about marriage too. I'd rather not get some stupid ring. That's not even what marriage or love is about--it's just some stupid tradition that's been interred into it.[/size]

[img]http://www.duke.edu/~bis/img/spam.gif[/img] [size=1] Sadly, I don't get the meat substitute spam in my E-mail box. It's physically...well...impossible. Because I am on the internet. Have I even ever tasted this stuff? No, sadly. I'd like to think it tastes like floor. But correct me if I'm wrong, anyway. So no. I only have about 2 e-mail addresses...I don't get spam at any. I wouldn't eat it if I did, anyway.[/size]

[size=1] Second draft. I still like the older one better. My heart wasn't in this remake as much--but I had to change things out of it that weren't relevant.[/size] In a bathroom, as you walk in a stall and shut the door, and you look on the sides of the square which encloses you , there is sometimes words that jump at you from all sides. The words stare at you, and you stare at them, and you can't help but read them. It has been said that we don't even look at a word for each letter it uses to spell, but we look at it as a whole. I believe this is quite true, especially as we become more and more familiar with words and use them more often. These phrases strewn about a bathroom only lead to make you wonder more what people could have possibly been thinking as they sat in this stall where you are now sitting, preparing to do what must be done. This also makes you roll your eyes at the lack of useless things you'll find. Don't get it wrong, though. There's some really interesting phrases to be found in bathrooms. But as I found, by going into the bathrooms I could here at school, there isn't much interesting in a high schooler's mind, at least. Most phrases appeared to me to be carved by some pubescent boy that had raging hormones that, for some reason, he could not control as he was going to the bathroom and alone to his thoughts. I can just imagine some zit-infested baboon with wide, gaping eyes, and buck teeth sitting on a toilet with a pen in hand just glaring away at the wall, thinking deeply to himself like he's in some kind of twisted psychiatric evaluation. I can also imagine him drooling and salivating at his thoughts as he begins to scribble his horrid script upon the wall. Thoughts like, Man do I want Michelle right now swirling from his head onto the stall's wall like some beastial instinct. And as he writes them he hums in an entirely rabid fan boy fashion, his eyes fixed fazedly on the wall as if that right there is Michelle's naked form dancing merrily for him, up and down, and smiling as she looks over her shoulder. Then suddenly, as if a comet just hit him square in the head and took out his brain, Mr. Baboon finally comes to the realization that that is not Ms. Michelle dancing naked there, but it is simply his pencil waggling up and down all excited like a dog. And Baboo just sighs, and he lets his eyes drift up to the ceiling in an extremely dreamy fashion. And soon Baboo leaves his sheltered home, where now scribbled on the wall stands, "Michelle, I want your heart for mine, want to feel you inside, want to know you MOTHER F-ING WANT ME DOWN AND DIRTY." I've noticed that there's always an f-word somewhere in the tangle of words you'll find. It's people that are pubescent, by rule of thumb, that write these. Don't ever listen to them, either. Why teenagers feel it's fun to say f-this and f-that all the time I have yet to find out. I especially hate those kinds of people that say the f-word every single sentence. It's like they're afflicted with a speech impediment, and for some odd reason, it has ended up going into F-ingal Syndrome. I think these people have to be some of those who write f-this and that on the walls of stalls. I can just picture Mr. F-you Wong right now. He's just like Baboo, only he has a morbid obsession with the f-word. He also says the f-word all the time as if this is an f-world where f-ers roam, beasts which only purpose is to ejaculate f upon the world, and also only around to endlessly blabber f-this and f-that and f-you and f-all?especially upon bathroom stalls with ink or a marker. Mr. F-you Wong would be a loud-spoken anti-mama's boy. And he is one of those kids that at school just has to go to the bathroom in every class every day within some certain time. Once there Mr. F-you Wong would stand at the bathroom mirror, conjugating the f-word for an approximation of 15 minutes. This is to prep himself for going to the bathroom, where he always has endless bouts of hatred and what he calls "f jitters." Once in his ascertained stall, after conjugating his f-words in the mirror for an approximation of 15 minutes, he would then concern himself with first taking care of his personal business, then finally taking out a pen or a marker. And at this special time and moment, he looks upon the wall, finding Mr. Baboo's statement written earlier. Mr. F-you Wong smiles. He then scribbles a bit, writing more to what Baboo wrote. It now reads: "Mich f-ing elle, I f-ing want your mind f-ing heart for f-ing mine, want to f-ing feel f-ing you f-ing inside, want to f-ing know your f-ery, want to f-ing know you f-ing want me MOTHER F-ING-ERY WANT F-ING ME F-ING DOWN F-ING AND F-ING DIRTY." The below this is now written: "CALL FFF-FUGER TO CALL THE INNUENDO POLICE." Mr. F-you Wong smiles again at the beauty he has created. Then it's off back to class, only to await the next class so he can go to the bathroom again. What a loser. If I were to find what was written in this stall, I would just laugh, because it has so many expletive swears in it it is impossible to understand the entire affliction the person who wrote it had. I would wonder if they were born like this, or if they had some speech impediment that led them to write like this. Quite sarcastically, I would also take out my own pen and cross out the entire "f-this f-that f-ing f to f-ing f-ers" piece about Michelle with my pen. Then, below the now crossed out mess I would write, "I already called the innuendo police." Then, even smaller writing, "They said that the f-ing f-ers that f-ing made the f-ing f-ers make the f-ing mind f-ery that is f-ing you should f-ing learn to f-ing not speak so f-ing explicitly. From now on I want you to be a calm collected person, and instead of saying the f-word, I want you to say, 'well banana my nuts,' because that's infinitely more entertaining," Whatever the case is with these messages upon bathroom stalls, I shall always be there to read them. For I am the bathroom decoder of the ages. As for the innuendo police?well, let's just say they are quite a scary bunch of schizoid sexists who have no life but to uncover the sexuality in any situation. Because in any given situation, there's always some inert thing that they can find that they'll say, "Blah blah blah, that was sexual." And then they will take you off to innnuendo jail, where you'll be locked eternally in the "sexual funny farm for sexually innuendoic sexists." That place is scary too. So many people are there just from bathroom accusations it's insane. So if you want Santa to come this Christmas for you, and you don't want the innuendo police after you, you'd better watch out. Because I know I won't be. Next time you see me in the hall, maybe you could tell me if Baboo ever found his Mich f-ing elle. I know I haven't. But at least I'm not scribbling on walls like some inane yak. Maybe you could even tell me what happened to F-you Wong. I hope he was delivered to justice under the hands of the innuendo police.

I the angels thanatos in white snow bleed down thou murther thou dove lone eat way my sadness with contemplated prostrate. thanatos thy weak thanatos thy speak thou canst not. thou canst not. destroy thine heart thine bleeding thing thine monsterous monster thine innocent who breathes. thou art the art destroy thine heart. thou art the art destroy thine parts. vena cava veins of blood thine own kisses thine own love. vena cava, the sweet. that large, sweeping, beat. thy own demise thy own bleat. angels thanatos the angels with scabbed wings. itching themselves all thy times. the wicked disease. and above them their [i]Dominus[/i] their Lord O Mighty. O Mighty be so small O dear the fall. O death thine wall. angels thanatos up in absolute snow down--down they go. thine angels with scabbed wings thine angels with the disease. [i]Dominus[/i]--thy queen-- thy king. [i]Dominus[/i]--supreme. the owner of the angels with scabbed wings. II they fall they leave thine own creations thine own things. mutiny thanatos sings. in the corner from absolution on his knees the biting lover that kisses true lover's greed. down they fall in christmas as snow breathes. down they fall covered in white beatific beings. the angels with scabbed wings. the mutiny beautiful nothings. O my [i]Dominus[/i] O so fair O my [i]Dominus[/i] O so fair thine own creations break there. in the sky burning cries in the sky burning cries in the sky burning cries in the sky thanatos death's cry. and the angels with scabbed wings fall as they fly. mankind born from their demise. mankind--the angels with scabbed wings. their tool of vise. eat repeat the thanatos eyes.

[size=1] The beginning of the poem was quite shaky. You lead one way, then the other one, then stayed on "a bird loses flight, and falls in the snow." The poem is really unfocused at the beginning, which makes it very hard to keep going as you read it. I'd definitely make the beginning flow better than it does, and give it some more narration. Make me [i]see[/i] this bird in those first few lines, because I don't see it in those first two lines too much, other than in "a bird loses flight and falls in the snow." Over all, the poem doesn't hold together well, honestly. But I think it's [i]much[/i] better than what I read in the past; but that is not the point of poetry. The point of poetry isn't using big words and vague phrases like you have in this poem. It works in some poems and poet's hands, but at this point it seemed like you just made it as you went along (which is what I hope any poet does, so that necessarily isn't a bad thing), and that you didn't know where you were taking it even when you wrote it that first moment(s). I actually like the older second stanza than this newer one. Again, what you added only makes it less focused to the point where it's as bad as the first stanza. Don't be so vague and almost meaningless in what you say. You have to be obtuse if you want to, but at the same time, you need to say things in a beautifully poetic profound way. And this poem, honestly and as good of a first try as it is, doesn't accomplish this too well. I do see its meaning...but it itsn't amazingly profound, it isn't interesting. It doesn't spark my interest too much. And that is mainly because it just didn't hold together well at all. I'm being honest. This is the way I am with critiques if I do them. And you asked me to say whether I like it or not, so I have. It wasn't terrible. I've seen [i]far[/i] worse in this place. But you just need to work on description and making your symbolization much more keen and easily read. You basically need to find what of your writing voice you can. And doing that, especially as a poet, is hard. It changes so often. It never stays the same. It's something that will never be found, but can only be found in its parts. I do think it's relatively good. But it nowhere thunders to the point of genius or anything other than a vague feeling of something. My biggest gripe is that it just needs more description, some better narration. I read the words of this poem but they mean nothing to me--I can't even see too well what you are trying to say without reading it over and over again and forcing myself to understand the words. Just keep writing. That's all you need to do. And maybe read too--reading is a thing which is important to the growth of a poet and a writer. Reading gives you a style to steal and implement as your own, it also stops the impedeing nothingness that you have for ideas and gives you some new ones.[/size]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Semjaza Azazel [/i] [B]You spelled Kirby wrong... :( Now I don't know what to think anymore. [/B][/QUOTE] [size=1] You spelled Kirby [i]right[/i]. :(. Now [i]I[/i] don't know what to think anymore. Anyways, I want to do this thing seriously, for the thread's sake. [strike][b]A[/b]nus[/strike][b]A[/b]nswers--because if you don't have an answer, you have an assumption. [b]B[/b]anal--for being a cool word, and loving me back. [b][strike]C[/b]urdles[/strike][b]C[/b]ross--for giving me a universal symbol which to forever spite and make fun of. [b]D[/b]eath--for taking my life instead of me taking my life. And for ending the pain eventually. [b]E[/b]legy--for being a cool word, and part of a good AFI song, as well as being cool in what it does. [b]F[/b]eelings--for making me feel terrible and great and wonderful and uncaring all at once. [b]G[/b]eneralizations--for being needed to an extent, yet not individual enough and not far-seeing. [strike][b]H[/b]orns[/strike][b]H[/b]earts--for ripping me to pieces and ripping me back to pieces all in the same beat. [b]I[/b]rrelevancy--for it being my friend. Anything random and superfluously humors makes my day. [b]J[/b]esters--just for jesting, that's all. [b]K[/b]nives--for being the blunt object that hurt more than anything. [b]L[/b]ife--for being there when I hate it, love it, and don't want it, as well as when I do accept it. [b]M[/b]onsters--for eternally interesting me and trying to prove their existence through my writing. [b]N[/b]othing--for being nothing, which is what I love. [b]O[/b]btuse--the truth obtuse is the truth acute. [strike][b]P[/b]ragmatism[/strike][b]P[/b]oe--for writing what he did and eternally becoming a legend, and for also being the best horror writer at this point. [b]Q[/b]uirks--for being quirkily quirky, and quirking me to quirking. [b]R[/b]est--for making me feel better and letting me close my eyes from life for a while. [b]S[/b]hy--for being one of the coolest people, always being there, and just being Shy. [b]T[/b]ony--for getting me into lots of music, listening to my depressing rants, and being a great guy that cares more for other people than himself. [b]U[/b]terus--for raping me into existence yet giving me existence all the same. As well as for fostering me. Venison Writing Xenophobes You Zealots. Out of time--add the rest later.[/size]

[b]life doesn't like the society play[/b] there it comes?the unrequited alone that has no name the thing which seeks but has no brain. it comes in irrelevancy and shouts in the rain pouting nothing?feeling all the same. time to bury the effigy?bury it deep bury it where no one can keep. make it shout, shake, and reel. peel like skin, flaky but slim. death to hang that keeps us all alive as we drive and scream: "Hallowed be thy name." death to hang that keeps us all alive as we drive and scream: "Hollowed be thy name." place your hand upon the way? make it to salvation, the place we feign. what if reality is reality, and fiction is rang? the ephemeral telephone that answers with a bang, a drawn-out speech to kill what thinkers say. no reason, just blame. "Hello this is fiction, hello dear sir? i wonder what reality needs to blur, when he-who-must-not-be-named is here. he-who-must-not-be-named, his son died for you? the bleeding sealed the pact live for him, live with act." And quite aside?with sniding voices' eyes? "I am fiction, and the difference between i and reality? the difference is that i must be real. beatific plane lies far away? the place where you want to grace? the place where you want to be! do you turn your back from this? from these? without nothing there is nothing to appease? think about, think about it hard." and fiction hangs up and the line is blearing hell the moaned damnation that expels. happy-handed and hanged life is a felon man getting caught over and over again with the same reasons against him against him. the police officer, fat and obese, with large hands and a doughnut talks to life: "Come man, why you always break the la'? why you gotta do something that ain't good at reason to it now? why you gotta be so seasonal and so getting into trouble? i think you're scared of what's going to happen now?aren't you. you're gonna be to court, then you're gonna be in jail, then maybe you're just gonna get the 'lectric chair and die? it's gotta be something like that, sall right though?sall right." and the officer, fat and obese, the rule-man fat with power, he eats his doughnut, and chains life in chains. saying that life doesn't need to be having so much fun, but he needs to be hanged. all the people in this society play are actors and they sigh and exclaim "Oh dear god!" "Oh dear me!" "That's just life, you have to do it!" "Don't ask me!" and walking, those without their chains? those chains gained from rule-men fat with power? they just laugh at all the people in the society play. when the curtains open each day, the faces opening, going about their ways, the people that really matter are death-eyed slaves. and they just laugh at all the people in the society play? and they say things they say: "Working?working is for the insane." "Interdicted, we fall framed." "Ashes, ashes, we all fall down." the smart ones?the ones that know they say these things they just laugh at all the people in the society play. the society people are horrid actors, and they smile with no face. and they shuffle all over the place? going here and there, there and here? going round and round and round weird. exclaiming there's nothing to fear. life is a piece of paper on the bench at the park in the middle of the trees writing itself on the blank white as seasons changed?the leaves fell from the trees and life still wrote what he believed. and he believed in living and love that was true? writing special arrangements to geniuses? the ones who knew. life is a rock rolling endlessly down a hill? and as the ages go by, the hill keeps growing. the rock keeps getting smoother, softer and less there, while the hill gets greener, more fair. life is a tree growing from the ground eating the sun up and being quietly sound. his leaves grow each year, and each year they are found? on the ground. life is a kiss being patted on lips the feeling that captured all?and that captured this. the red things that are so kind, the things that are most beautiful? the natural finds that were found. nature's nature abound. life is you life is me but life isn't anything. life is you life is me the way you move the way you breathe. life is you life is me how i feel and how i see. life is you life is me the way we cringe as we bleed. life is you life is me and it's meant to just be.

[size=1][b]A[/b]nus [b]B[/b]anal [b]C[/b]urdles [b]D[/b]eath [b]E[/b]legy [b]F[/b]eelings [b]G[/b]eneralizations [b]H[/b]orns [b]I[/b]rrelevancy [b]J[/b]esters [b]K[/b]nives [b]L[/b]ife [b]M[/b]onsters [b]N[/b]othing [b]O[/b]btuse [b]P[/b]ragmatism [b]Q[/b]uirks [b]R[/b]est [b]S[/b]hy [b]T[/b]ony [b]U[/b]terus [b]V[/b]enison [b]W[/b]riting [b]X[/b]enophobes [b]Y[/b]ou [b]Z[/b]ealots. Okay, so it isn't really serious. But ah well. I don't feel serious...so thusly it isn't too serious.[/size]