Ephemeral as the sun's brief reign
Nightfall bleeds through bright skies, once again to find you reclined on your roof-top with a cigarette pressed between your lips, smoke billowing out of your reach and casting a haze over the ritualistic struggle between sun and moon.
In the last dissolving light, you trace with your tired eyes each pencil-drawn word in the last letter she ever wrote to you. Reading was of no use, really, the words were already etched into your heart and your memory, engraved as if in stone. The penciled markings on the page begin to blur and fade, spiral and contort as the sun withdraws from the sky in defeat.
Beneath the weight of your own resignation, you wonder whether it was right to feel that way, on those nights in your car, as she smiled and breathed truth into your skin. Always the voice of reason. Always letting reality poison your dreams. Passion is overrated, anyway.
Exhaling a last cloudy breath, your cigarette meets its finale in the worn paper at your side. Where a timelessly flowing script once expressed "Love always," now bares an ashen void, much like the one in your heart at this moment, empty of color and clarity.
The moon diseminates a melancholy coldness into the sultry night air, numbing your lifeless cheeks so as to keep you from feeling the tears cascade down them as you take your lighter to the corner of her letter. The scorched paper curls and blackens at your hand, the words it once bore erased completely and forever. You had forgotten what they meant to you quite some time ago, and it only seemed right to watch them cauterize beneath your fingertips this way.
Pertinacious in your solitude, hapless in your grief--you let your heavy eyelids slip closed. Your head bows slightly in regret. Symphonies of crickets lapse into a melancholy serenade, in sorrow for your lost love. Bright, blinding love--ephemeral as the sun's brief reign. Their sympathetic melody does little to solace your grief, but passion is overrated, anyway.
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(Anonymous)
2004-01-07 13:12
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jesus CHRIST!
Hey, stop bitching you stupid goth-wannabe depressed WHORE(Reply to this) (Thread) |
| keiguil 
(Anonymous)
2004-01-08 03:55
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Wow... I like to make premature judgements as much as the next man, but that was impressive. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread) |
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(Anonymous)
2004-01-23 22:18
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Amy, perspective is aquired not created. There are things you say which have unbelievable expressional talent, but still lack the pain which you talk about. The sad part is, the more you write and show this talent, the less you are of yourself. Pain and expression don't naturally go together. It seems you understand apathy so well, yet what you write about is apathetic to most positive energy. It's not a trap like you may think I would be talking about, but apathy feeds off itself. It will take a lot of humility to be able to step back and look at yourself for, not who you are, but who you aren't. You're so young, you need to be able to trust, to accept, and then you yourself will become more confident. With this comes the mistakes, but it's a growing process. It'll bring out more of yourself, which that itself, is worth writing about. You shouldn't be writing to impress people, more you should be writing for yourself to help you understand why these emotions came out. When you have a full understanding of yourself, your words will sound so much more pure. All I can see is confusion. (Reply to this) (Thread) |
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 porcelainapathy
2004-01-24 00:48
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If you're so wise, then why can't you leave your name?
You must not know me very well, nor my writing, otherwise you would understand that I don't write about my own personal feelings. I have private diaries for that. I choose different viewpoints and write from the perspectives of others, in order to gain a deeper understanding of what others experience--collectively choosing a particular idea or emotion (not necessarily of my own) and illustrating it.
I am apathetic towards certain situations, yes, but aren't we all? This post has confused me, because you write as if you know me so well and understand precisely what you're talking about--yet there are numerous spelling and gramatical errors that make me doubt their author. Your sentences are incoherent and don't tie in to one another, yet you claim to have such elevated knowledge...
I don't write to please others, nor am I about to take advice from a faceless coward in order to better please them. As far as poetry goes, I write for my own amusement. I have my own methods of communicating with myself in order to assimilate my emotions and reactions to certain events, and I don't post them here for reasons you would probably understand, being prone to psychophant babble and all.
"You're so young, you need to be able to trust, to accept, and then you yourself will become more confident."
Having lived with myself for my entire life, I've come to understand that I am a confident person. Even those who hardly know me pick up on this right away. There are a few areas in which I may harbor some self-doubt, but over-all I am definately a confident person, and unless you know me better than I do, this really isn't your place to infer any differently--ESPECIALLY in such an impersonal manner!
So many things that you said were self-contradictory, as well. For instance, "With this comes the mistakes, but it's a growing process...you should be writing for yourself to help you understand why these emotions came out." You denounce me for not writing about myself accurately, but then proceed to lecture me on this so-called 'learning process'? Is that not the point of your arguement? You seem so sure that I should be writing in order to understand myself, yet isn't all self-expression evidence of an attempt at such?
Writing style is a lot like shopping for clothes. You try things on, see what fits, keep things for a while, throw them away. Some are well-developed, others are just for fun--the latter, in my case.
All you can see is confusion?
Embrace it. It's all part of adolescence. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread) |
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(Anonymous)
2004-01-24 02:15
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My name's Christopher Turco. I'm a professional writer, and I'd like to sound off on this writing. My commentary is in ***asterisks***.
Nightfall bleeds through bright skies, once again to find you reclined on your roof-top with a cigarette pressed between your lips, smoke billowing out of your reach and casting a haze over the ritualistic struggle between sun and moon.
***This is a very strong opening, a solid hook with wel-considered imagery. It does not overdescribe and the word selection is excellent. It feels relaxed and smooth, not forced and insincere. A lot of writers try way too hard and it shows, and the ability to just go with the flow and let the words dictate themselves is one of the hardest skills to learn in the craft.***
In the last dissolving light, you trace with your tired eyes each pencil-drawn word in the last letter she ever wrote to you.
***I would put "your tried eyes trace," but otherwise, this is a strong follow up that keeps the hook sharp and strong. More excellent description.***
Reading was of no use, really, the words were already etched into your heart and your memory, engraved as if in stone. The penciled markings on the page begin to blur and fade, spiral and contort as the sun withdraws from the sky in defeat.
*** I can find nothing to fault in the above - it moves like a graceful snake and has all the impact a writer could hope for in a quick pair of sentances.***
Beneath the weight of your own resignation, you wonder whether it was right to feel that way, on those nights in your car, as she smiled and breathed truth into your skin. Always the voice of reason. Always letting reality poison your dreams. Passion is overrated, anyway.
***I love the part about "she smiled and breathed truth on your skin." Romantic, winsome, sad and hopeful all in one turn. Elegant and effective.***
Exhaling a last cloudy breath, your cigarette meets its finale in the worn paper at your side. Where a timelessly flowing script once expressed "Love always," now bares an ashen void, much like the one in your heart at this moment, empty of color and clarity.
**The only speedbump I'd find here is the lack of "it is" or "its" before "now bares..." That's the only glitch in a watery turn of phrase that continues the quality of the earlier passages. Impressive stuff and very solid.***
The moon diseminates a melancholy coldness into the sultry night air, numbing your lifeless cheeks so as to keep you from feeling the tears cascade down them as you take your lighter to the corner of her letter. The scorched paper curls and blackens at your hand, the words it once bore erased completely and forever. You had forgotten what they meant to you quite some time ago, and it only seemed right to watch them cauterize beneath your fingertips this way.
***There's a lot to love in the passage above, and I'm fond of the "cauterize beneath your fingertips" part - exquisite. The only bump is cascade, which seems like it should be "cascading," but even so, it still works in its presented form, and there's a purity in that I'd not presume to tamper with. ***
Pertinacious in your solitude, hapless in your grief--you let your heavy eyelids slip closed. Your head bows slightly in regret. Symphonies of crickets lapse into a melancholy serenade, in sorrow for your lost love. Bright, blinding love--ephemeral as the sun's brief reign. Their sympathetic melody does little to solace your grief, but passion is overrated, anyway.
***A very solid punch ending. The entire piece seems to flow musically; it has a definitive start, middle and end, and it has an ebb and flow that makes it feel rythymic and supple. It's relaxed and easy, flows nicely and contains both rock-solid imagery and excellent presentation. If you were to get into fiction, I'd hate to compete with your work... :P
- C.T. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread) |
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(Anonymous)
2004-01-27 04:19
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Fiction's not far off from what you're already doing, and it can be pretty cathartic...
CT(Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread) |
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(Anonymous)
2004-02-01 03:28
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HAHAHAHA YOU STUPID FUCKING DUMBASS WHORE BEAST FUCKER
"My name's Christopher Turco. I'm a professional writer"
uh yeah, I printed out like three copies of my own book and had kinko's bind it together...that means Im a writer right?
pffft I hope the starving artist cliché applies to you Christopher, because I would hate for you to be happy.(Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread) |
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