Please Rip This Apart

[alfredglenstein 0]

I'd say in the name of only caring about "quality' that it wouldn't hurt me... and the "bottom line", having the end product or end goal in mind compels me to say no, it doesn't hurt. But in my cloud of subjectivity, my burning "heat of the moment" I really care for this peice of writing (like I'm excited for it and glad I was able to outpour it). I'll play it safe and say I only care because it applies to me, so yes, I will be hurt (or not hurt at all but glad) or at the least I'm emotionally invested.

I will be honest, my posts here have been mostly to keep my hosting alive and any meaning or emphasis, interjects itself and always comes out in the end but only because I first made the effort to keep my hosting. That said, I know I get no credit for this post and I will say any sincere criticism is greatly appreciated.

I wrote in a broken garbled rant but it was on purpose, trying to keep very close to what was in my head so I avoided "writing" it, for fear that the text would just get abstracted from the emotions. I haven't posted here in this forum before, but I'll do my best to look at other posts here now because if I don't I really have to right to expect input on my own, and I think right here and now I know how meaningfull and appreciated that input can be. Please bare with the parts that make little-no sense, but bring them up and I'd love to explain them, just read it as if it was written by someone who really cared about what they were writing. And then tell me why it is terrible and wrong. And I really really honestly appreciate any response a ton. It's in a way addressed to somone I know, but I want to leave it at that. Feel free to rip it apart and again, thanks, thanks thanks for your time.

I'd shudder or shiver more vile but that is cut off (and the rest of this, yes) for even coming this close the edge the slightest shape almost being hinted at of my trump card as poured out full and totally, as every movement of mine is first interpreted as if it takes that form but I pull the fog away (even if I don't have to and it becomes a stupid game that would be totally clear if I ran from it totally), its a simple non-dance dance that they learn the steps to then add their changes to a part of "me" interpreted swept into.
It is a vile indescribable crime (I feel none of this, when driven to it my eyes toward the real shape of what I'm really talking about- a second hand third hand memory here now at the keyboard, flesh this out, outpour the venom), if I were a semblance of any thing at all (backtrack to little league.... forthtrack?(shut the *BLEEP* up)) I'd care enough about the fact that I am still dancing now (dancing..). If I were serious about ... (there will be a time (again the obligatory *BLEEP* you I will be so raging mad if I find out that you too end up at this same point and I was right all along, or worse, it's understandable but the fact that I will listen is your invitation) I wouldn't waste time with the trinkets posing as the answers. The real quest is here and the thing I can say nothing to is the fact that it is so plainly here offering to swoop me off back into innocence (innocence is upward? and yes, *BLEEP* you) and I even spell it out but move on (but don't press harder and upward, the (depth) is always when you slip to the side)

Can't have this without feeling overswelled with wretched horridness I won't grant ever you that false moment (*BLEEP* you for objecting to my quasi poetry it's secondary to the other thing that I'm trying to be honest about). I have to get coaxed into demonstrating against it, wasting time against pithy vile empty gestures and then by accident suggesting that somewhere in those was (). Why is this always the pull that on top of rotting trash and fingernails on chalkboards, blaring broken records you dare find comfort in this horridness, and my only gesture is to keep distance and project how I walk away from it and then you do too with the subtle and final and overarching hey comfort down in it, this putried vile admission as if that is what I am too. Utterlying submerged but hey I'll grow up too I'm so lucky that at least I am hurt by it! I put as much of the tip of that out and there we are again in your character, the thing we (people) stop objecting to for being so hopeless. That which we can't (or won't or can't or don't know or or) change should still be held as what it is and pressed against as well rather than set equal to every other hopeless place, and then we are in YOUR dance the positioning, the TRUE, YOUR comfort in the collapsed house hurricane wreck it is what it is, it was a house by technicality and with that we hung to the "house" but don't even try for that anymore or even the stress or sadness that ought to come from the last grasps at the breaking rungs of the ladder that lead us back. Instead, on the fall into torn open metal lets take comfort in the one less infected less rusty and never tear and claw with every strain and fiber of life (THAT IS YOUR *BLEEP*ING POETRY, what will you do with those hopeless sad home movies that even if borne out had nothing except this produced ready-made image of a watered down textbook life abstracted built on the motions only experience) for the soft mattress right there out of our reach.

And grudgingly I see how this is come to but the breaking point is in thinking the mattress wasn't worth it and making no question of what we never know.

No. Your *BLEEP*ing fall is that you settle for the definition and give up its shortcomings as hopeless everything equal that even itself is produced gray rotten smoothness that in its own flesh is still too plain but clamps against and turns bitter at any twist you would have thrown as if that tears it down), but really the twist is when you stretch and reach for the definition (and know that trying to reach your original one is nonsensical begging of the question and should be cast aside, not sworn to for solidity). The solidity needs to be torn down and don't *BLEEP*ing look at what my center is, my center is center when dissolved, no more and we are looking innocently at and ONLY at what we have to fight against and not swelling in self-self-self this is this is this declarations too plain and dry of what can be tagged as the right thing we were going for ("progress in a phone call, or the hug or the "i understand")

Pour farthest from this as possible! Strain for it and I will run like hell and even that poor tiny thing that was aimed for is to be found no where (sad sad sad as hell) and my absent blankness is ACCEPTED.. (I just can't hold this horrid sad thing that comes in just now) and trudge forth like this when absolute insanity building behind and the underbelly has no nourishment at all, no "intuition" (you would call it that)

(I left the room, came back.. and ALL this was totally broken off..)

So it sucks, its melodramatic, makes to no sense, its too arrogant, just like any other rant, yes yes and yes exactly what I want for criticism (or anything else), and how would YOU do justice to it and avoid melodrama and all that nonsense and just be honest. Even if its just a slight feeling you get I'd like to know what you think, and I'd be interested in answering questions or anything... again, thanks.

[WindAndWater 0]

Your story/poem seems very fervent -- which is what you were after, and I think it works. However, as a lot of rants and off-the-cuff writing goes (and this is both), any sence or sembelance of meaning is highly fragmented. I would go back, and try to clean up the thoughts a bit so they mesh into a more cohesive whole (note that I said thoughts, not sentences, as I think it's fine to leave sentence fragments). Add in a short preface, which establishes some sort of context for the piece -- it doesn't need to be written in the same charged style, but you really do need context to bring sense to the piece. Finally, go back and replace the cliche phrases (fingernails on a chalkboard leaps readily to mind) with ones which are more specific to the context, or the character.Good luck with the quasi-poem. I used to write daily, but sadly I've gotten far out of the habit of doing that.

[alfredglenstein 0]

Your story/poem seems very fervent -- which is what you were after, and I think it works. However, as a lot of rants and off-the-cuff writing goes (and this is both), any sence or sembelance of meaning is highly fragmented. I would go back, and try to clean up the thoughts a bit so they mesh into a more cohesive whole (note that I said thoughts, not sentences, as I think it's fine to leave sentence fragments). Add in a short preface, which establishes some sort of context for the piece -- it doesn't need to be written in the same charged style, but you really do need context to bring sense to the piece. Finally, go back and replace the cliche phrases (fingernails on a chalkboard leaps readily to mind) with ones which are more specific to the context, or the character.
Good luck with the quasi-poem. I used to write daily, but sadly I've gotten far out of the habit of doing that.

Windandwater I appreciate the response. That's definately a good call on the fingernail on the chalkboard thing. The trouble is, and I think I knew this a bit but it helps to hear it verified, the trouble is that it's hard to take it seriously if there is not at least a lead in to go for. I'd like for it to not sound like total nonsense but also get at a "fervent" spirit, so that it's kind of justified.

I think, if nothing else, it's good to write consistently (and hopefully you pick it back up yourself) to establish a sandbox of ideas, some things that you've at least already explored a bit so that when you try to speak about them or write about them later, they can come out more clearly or developed. But even that is kind of thin I think... it would be right to have it come out right the first time. Keep moving, keep at it I guess.