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Post by ASGetty ((Zovo)) on Sept 1, 2009 17:14:46 GMT -5
PORCELAIN
So there it lies, a plastinized soul
Forced in it's surrender, unliving but unbroken
Obscured by a uniform which lifts and seperates.
Why not?
With self respect and dignity laid bare upon an altar
A sacrificial offering to the first pervert
With balls enough to reach out and take it.
Why not?
Why try? Why fight? Why scream out;
"I'm here! I live! I am greater than this torso!"
Here, here, in this corridor of faces
Vanity yields no truth deeper
Than the invasive caress of wayward eyes.
The slimy trails lingering behind greasy fingers,
Tracing lines they've no right to know.
It could be more.
More than fodder for knobby knuckles,
Prey for yellowed teeth and blackened gums.
It could be loved. . .
Yet, in defiance of the sanctity of it's own immaculate shell
It drifts onward, wide-eyed and blind.
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T-DADDY
Senior Scribe
Feeling so fly like a G6.
Posts: 1,867
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Post by T-DADDY on Sept 1, 2009 20:19:12 GMT -5
I liked the part about balls.
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Post by Matteo ((Taed)) on Sept 2, 2009 1:37:46 GMT -5
I bet you could make a killing selling decorative plasticized souls.
So is this going to be mostly poetry or does 'free-form' mean it could be anything?
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Post by ASGetty ((Zovo)) on Sept 2, 2009 2:30:00 GMT -5
Free-Form means it can, and will, be whatever I happen to be working on at the time. Whether it be poetry from the Zovo Archives; fractions fo stories I'll never complete, or just dialogues between character's in my head. It's hard to say.
But yeah, probably alot of mediocre poetry.
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Post by Jenny (Reffy) on Sept 8, 2009 19:35:33 GMT -5
Wow, Zovo. Disturbing. The mind boggles. So much I could say but do not need to. The whole imagery of it was awesome. The creepiness vivid. The idea behind it and the truth. Comments on improving ... drawing a blank ... Watch your comma's? Kidding  Keep it up  |
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Post by ASGetty ((Zovo)) on Sept 9, 2009 19:19:23 GMT -5
Thanks Ref.
Gonna change gears here and post something a little less serious.
I used to have a friend who had a band, occasionally I would write lyrics, or portions of lyrics. This next piece was turned down because; "It's not quite what we're going for."
It's not my best, but it still makes me chuckle. This was intended to be a duet, btw.
Female lyrics are in italics.
Could You Love Me?
I know sometimes I'm condescending
And I know I've caused you pain
But my ego trip isn't out of place
I've really got a bigger brain.
I know I've told alot of stories
And I've come home late at night
And when you asked me where the hell I've been
I said, "Out drinkin' with the guys."
But that's not totally true
You see I've told another lie.
Cause late at night I'm mapping out
Your planet's imminent demise.
(chorus)
What if I told you I'm not from this world
Would you still love me then?
What if I told you I fell from the sky in a spaceship?
What if I told you that your race was doomed,
And I'll conquer your world?
Would you love me?
Could you still love me?
All the places he could take me
And all the places that I've seen
Into the spaceship late at night
Like it was all just a dream.
He said he'd take me to the stars
Or bring the stars right to my door
But when he promised me the world
I thought it was a metaphore.
(cheesy twinkling)
(hair metal solo)
(etc.)
How could I never notice
I guess I should have seen the signs
Like the time he made me breakfast
With just the power of his mind.
I just thought is was romantic
I should have read between the lines
With the exception of myself
He's got his mind on genocide.
Oh, we've got so much in common
Though we're a universe apart
It seems that time and space and distance
Bend to to the power of the heart.
(chorus)
What if I told you I'm not from this world
Would you still love me then?
What if I told you I fell from the sky in a space ship?
Could you love me?
What if I told you came from the stars
With mission to bring back specimen jars
Of your people and pets,
Food and your clothing,
Technology specs of the weapons we're facing,
With detailed maps of
all your major cities. . .
But we can get us a place in the country
If you love me. . .
Do you still love me?
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Post by ASGetty ((Zovo)) on Sept 16, 2009 19:02:55 GMT -5
So last night I pulled an old 3.5inch floppy disk out to recover some old Diablo 2 saves that were on it. I discovered that also saved on this disk was a story I had begun writing roughly. . . 10+ years ago. Anyhow, I vaguely recall where it was going and I'm trying to decide whether I should attmpt to pick it back up. . .
Here's what I got.
A jumble of sounds was the only thing penetrating his brain. Antony grew bored, stared lifelessly through the yammering man across from him. Waiting in this forgotten town for three days for the other members of his would-be hunting party to arrive had begun to wear on his patience, hours of listening to complete strangers ramble on about their sins, as if he could do anything about it. He was a Paladin, one of the Healers’ favored, not one of Her messengers. He could not bless water or create food for the starving. His job was to fight for these people, to defend their homes against the hordes of goblins, or other such creatures that stalk the night, not to put food on their tables or provide divine forgiveness for what they had done. Never the less, they kept on coming to him, and he kept pretending to be what he wasn’t, making a note in his head to have The Order build a church in this tiny town and free these people of their weighty burdens.
Though maybe he deserved this, maybe this was a request from Her Lordship. To defend the innocent of this realm was his job, and he had failed. Three weeks ago, apparently a day after he had bought supplies for his return from the western Crusade, a woman was killed in her bed by a pack of wolves. A local innkeeper had been alerted by the noise and ran to the home in time to see the dogs make their escape. Inside the house he found the body of a woman, torn limb from limb, and her daughter, badly mauled but alive.
The council in charge of the village had finally had enough. These wolves had given problems before, about once a month according what the locals had to say, they had raised enough money to hire a band of hunters to find and destroy these beasts before they could take another life. Wolves, barely worthy of a squires efforts but “The Order” knew that Antony was the closest to this village at the time the reports arrived at the High Temple, thus a scout was dispatched to intercept him and turn him around before he reached the end of his journey. His own personal crusade continued, without the rest of Her army.
Now he waited for the others, two people he had never met before who had also been hired to take on this hunt along side him. He wondered if they knew each other.
Coming back to reality Antony noticed that the man across from him had stopped speaking. Quickly, putting on a thoughtful, if not judgmental, face Antony paused, touched the mans forehead with his left hand, made the symbol of the Healer with his right and told the man to be on his way. The slightly over-weight man lifted himself out of his chair bowed to the Paladin, mumbled something about how it would never happen again, and made his way to the door almost bowling over a well dressed man entering the bar. The newcomer stepped, almost slinked, to the side in a deft dodge, smiled and kicked the heavy man lightly I the rear.
“Watch where you’re going, you’ll be less likely to lose things.” He said amusedly. The confused man shot him bewildered look and continued on his way.
Sending a boastful look toward the Paladin, the well-dressed man lifted his leg revealing a small coin purse the drawstring wrapped around the toe of his boot, lifted from the mans pocket with his foot. Antony shot a disapproving look at the thief, a look that should have lanced his heart and left him begging for forgiveness.
The thief smiled again, “Awww, c’mon holy-man, had you been listening to him you’d know he deserved it. The things he’d stolen, especially from the girls, some of them irreplaceable… If you know what I mean.” He winked and headed for the bar.
Antony virtually leapt from his seat, his eagerness to teach this man the price of audacity in the face of the church nearly consuming him. A light hand on his shoulder restrained him. Antony whirled around, ready for action. His eyes met the dark gaze of an elf, a gaze that seemed to hold him in place, to calm his anger, to force him to contemplate his actions. How he hated the eyes of elves.
The elf made no motion of ill intent and spoke lightly, “You are Antony Baritel of ‘The Order of the Prime Healer’, are you not?”
“I am,” Antony responded, as powerfully as he could without turning from the elf’s piercing gaze, “And who, might I ask, are you?” Antony challenged the eyes.
“My name is….” The elf began….
“He is Delanier Bone-Caster of the Silent Dark.” The thief piped up, mug of ale in hand, “He plays with dead things, priest, he’s evil… You should smite him…” Words turning to laughter at the brilliant red of the Paladin’s face, the thief positioned himself with a table between him and the enraged warrior-priest, and began his own introduction.
“I,” He began, “I am…”
“You are Marcus Featherweight, legendary thief and cat-burglar. It is well known that the touch of your fingers is light as a feather, though your name was given to you for your size at birth… much to your own dismay.” Delanier informed the group, settling the thief’s self-glorifying rampage by pointing out a hidden insecurity.
Frowning slightly, the thief continued. “`He is quicker than a rabbit, quieter than a mouse… has broken into, and out of, the Nine Hells just to see if he could’… So the stories I’ve heard say.” Marcus bragged, spinning around a chair so it’s back was to the table, and sat, facing the cooling Paladin, “`He has committed more sins than any man alive…’ Here’s another one!” He dangled the stolen coin purse before Antony, mockingly. “Oh, so many buttons to push, so little time.”
Antony fumed, but restrained himself. This man wanted a reaction, he wanted to see a clergyman lash out. And what about the elf, he wondered, what is the purpose of sending a Necromancer along with a Paladin. He begged silently to his goddess for an answer. None came. This must surely be a test.
Delanier spoke, softly, “You are most well informed Featherweight. It is not often one even sees a member of The Silent Dark, let alone know their name.”
“Always know your enemies,” Marcus stared down into his mug and took a drink, lifted his head and met the eyes of his tablemates, “But, you must know your allies even better.”
“You mean, ‘know your victims better.’” Antony retorted venomously.
Marcus smiled, “Yeah, them too.” and took another drink.
Antony grunted in frustration. This man was a veritable fortress of ego. This is definitely a test, it has to be. He turned his attention to the elf. He liked the elf no better than the thief, but at least he knew he could get a straight, short, answer out of him. “So what is The Silent Dark’s interest in a wolf hunt?”
“The wolf has long been a symbol of our order. They are the favored of Sek, our Master. It is not natural for wolves to attack people, especially not in their homes, in their beds. I am to find out what is causing this disturbance in their natural ways, whether it be some mind-altering disease, or the magical control of another wizard with his own motives… I am to put an end to it.
The mention of this drew Marcus’ attention off the barmaid he was focused on and back to the conversation. “You think there may be a Finger-wiggler involved in all this?” He asked most sincerely.
“What do you care?” Antony responded, annoyed at the interruption, “Why are you here anyway?!”
“You can only steal from nobles for so long priest, you have to take a break every so on to develop new techniques and new patterns or people catch on and you get caught. Besides, it gets a little old every now and then.”
“So you’re saying you are doing this out of boredom?” Antony was amazed, this man just got more and more annoying every time he opened his mouth.
“Yes, and look where it got me,” He rubbed his hands mischievously, “I may have the opportunity to loot a mages house. Do you know what the average wand goes for on the black market these days?”
Though he was enjoying the exchange of words, Delanier interrupted, “I did say maybe. It is more likely rabies, slowly cycling through the pack. I am hoping to destroy the infected wolves to keep them from spreading the disease to the remaining healthy ones; if there are any.”
Marcus calmed down, and again lost interest.
“So, what about you, Paladin? Why has the church sent one of their elite out into the wilderness to chase wolves?”
Antony was startled by the elf’s lack of cynicism. “It is the responsibility of the church to protect the meek, whether it be from war or from nature, and I was the closest to the disturbance. Thus I was chosen.”
Marcus again invaded the conversation, “Hey, isn’t there some money in this? Where is that councilman guy who put out the wanted poster?” Marcus drew a poster out of one of his many pockets and read, “High Councilman Hill.”
“I was told he would meet with us here, in the morning.” Delanier answered.
Antony nodded.
“Great!” Marcus signaled to the barmaid he had been speaking with off and on throughout conversation, “Yeah…” he shouted, across the dining room, “I will be staying the night.”
She smiled.
“Count one more sin for me.” He looked at Antony, “Mind if I confess tomorrow?”
Antony groaned and dropped his head to the table with a loud thud.
Marcus stared, confused, “What’d I say?”
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Post by ASGetty ((Zovo)) on Sept 21, 2009 16:42:43 GMT -5
Rayland
There's a novel idea.
The deliberate silence of a self-created victim
A pathetic defiance turning blood on blood
To come out sqeaky clean in the aftermath.
It appears so simple from here.
On the outside looking in
No one can hear when you cry out,
"Wake the fuck up! You're being played."
You'd have to break the silence to be heard.
A stone thrown of honesty shattering the illusion
And then you're the enemy.
No one likes picking up the pieces.
Jagged shards of truth cutting elongated scars
Tiny slivers diving deep beneath the skin
Itching like grudges
And nothing is ever the same.
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Post by Jenny (Reffy) on Sept 23, 2009 22:15:05 GMT -5
Alrighty ... ~~~ First off, your story: Well done. It completely pulled me in and made me want to read more. I would be delighted if you continued the story, even if it was an older piece of work. A simple idea that could be an excellent read. The relationship between the Thief, Necro and Paladin was charming and not sickening, as it could have easily turned. Some times a threesome like that can be easily guessed on reactions and become boring. I believe you managed to avoid "stale" and "easy to guess" but followed the traditional lore of such a meeting. You'd need to be careful not to let this happen as you continue to write. The small snippets of background folly was awesome. The main character was also my main interest, even though the Necro and Thief were also very interesting. I would check your [ " " ]. There was at least one missing, which made me track back and read it again. Also, try and keep consistency in your writing. You used both [The Order] and ["The Order"]. I would go with the one inside the marks, since it defines it as being special. One extra comment for good measure ... [Waiting in this forgotten town for three days for the other members of his would-be hunting party to arrive had begun to wear on his patience, ] This sentence was long and difficult to read. I did have to track back and read it again. Normally I would let this go, if it was in a novel I have brought from a shop, but it was in the first paragraph. Any publisher reading a story would want the first paragraph to be perfect, or it would go straight in the bin with out a second thought. Having to track back and re-read is not what you want. It may have been the double "for" but I'm not sure. This may just be my tastes ~~~ The poem: Simple. I liked the lay out. I think it could still use some work on it. It felt a little rushed on paragraph two and three. Perhaps you intended it this way. One thing I personally did not like was the two sentences that started with "And", simply because it made the previous sentence longer and broke the rhythm. I think it would be ok to remove both "And 's" and have no problem with the flow. I did like your range of vocabulary. Also, your imagery is outstanding. Being a visual, artistic person, it is easy to see the image. |
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Post by ASGetty ((Zovo)) on Nov 17, 2009 1:12:06 GMT -5
If I were in a pop music boy band, this would be my break-out hit single that would blast me into international fame and fortune before I faded into obscurity citing artistic differences. Enjoy.
Beef Jerky (A Love Song)
Can't drop the thought of you,
Oooooo, You keep me up all night.
Just can't shake the smell of you,
Babe, I'm yearning for a bite.
Sometimes I get a craving and I
Can't make it go away.
That spicy, tingling feeling, girl
I gotta have you every day.
I need your loving like Beef Jerky
I gotta have you now. . .
I crave your lovin' like Beef Jerky
I gotta have it somehow.
Can't take on all of you
OoooooH, the price is awfully high.
Just a little here and there, girl
It's a wonder I get by.
Every moment we spend alone is
A moment shared in peppered bliss.
Any time when we're apart, yeah
I just can't wait to snap into this.
I need your body like Beef Jerky
Oh babe you know it's true
The savory rapture of Beef Jerky
It's second only to you.
OOooooOoooOOooOoOooOoOoo
Beef Jerky
OOoOOoooooOOoOooOooOoO....
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Post by ASGetty ((Zovo)) on Feb 2, 2010 2:19:00 GMT -5
Stagefright
The words fell from his tongue and a pause. . .
Feeling the focus of a million minds
on his eyes
his mouth
words, and their absence.
Focused on his silence.
Staring out across a sea of faces. . .
A storm of aprehension
maelstrom of fear
of noise
voices, and nervous laughter.
Burning he turns away.
This isn't the way he saw it. . .
Not like this in the dream
there was glory then
triumph
smiles. . .
White-knuckled fists break through.
His heart yearns
chest burns
eyes clenched tight he slowly turns
voices blaring
temper tearing
Summoning the scream. . .
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Post by Jenny (Reffy) on Feb 2, 2010 12:51:15 GMT -5
((First off ... loved your "Beef Jerky (Love Song)" Cannot really make any comments about it, except that it was fun. For such a short piece you did use an awesome vocabulary range though.
Anyways: Reviewer is reviewing: "Stage fright"[/b]
-Loved the pacing. Really gave a sense of awkwardness and worry.
-Awesome vocabulary range again.
-Loved that you "likened" the feeling to a storm and burning.
-Would have liked one more paragraph perhaps, making the awkwardness and the dream feel a bit longer and deep-seated (if that makes sense?)
-Final paragraph really tied it all off. Excellent ending.
-All in all ... very awesome! Want more.))
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Post by ASGetty ((Zovo)) on Nov 12, 2010 19:24:41 GMT -5
So I posted this last night:
I've scanned a couple things in and was thinking that what I might do is post the image, and then maybe provide some background; the reason it was written, the particular lie it was meant to convey, etc.
However, I haven't decided if these are thing anyone would be interested in reading? Or just self-indulgent introspection. It'll definitely be the latter, but if no one is actually interested in reading it I can keep it to myself.
So. . . let me know before I post.
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Post by Kaez on Nov 12, 2010 19:36:26 GMT -5
I'd like to see at least -some- of it, if you don't want to post it all. Find the ones you think are more worth showing.
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Post by ASGetty ((Zovo)) on Nov 12, 2010 19:49:47 GMT -5
That's exactly zero of them. . . It's pretty bad. The only one I can think of that might be something value aside form having something to cite when pointing and laughing at me, I can't seem to locate. In fact, Narynan, if you're reading this, if you still have a copy of "To Sleep; Perchance to Dream" PM it to me. |
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Keep it up 
