Thread: Literature

This is a reflective jounal, I do not know wether it can be considered art or not, that is for you to decide, anyway here it is. Oh, and a foreword: I am not emo., thank you in advance. And yes, I know it is not completed. Furthermore, please note that I am not complaining about anything. Finally, when criticizing my work, please do not digress into trivial details that would not have any major effect in my literary developement. Thank you.
Have I put anyone off from criticizing my work? I would love someone to come and analyze this work; it is in desperation that I wish for anyone to analyse this. The prejudice are welcome. As a retraction from my earlier statement; please, come and post anything, not matter how trivial. Preferably Nataku_O. Please, I beg of you, dissipate my sinew to the bone, as if to destroy my every fibre, my very being, my benevolent creator.



Journal
It seems that my so desired change is not going to come about without its trials and tribulations. Cabin Fever, a feeling of claustrophobia that one suffers when encaged with others over a lengthy duration or time, is apparently my greatest mountain that I will have to overcome.
My family, if that is what you can call my inexorably critical mother, my overbearingly cynical twin brother, my ignorant philistine of a father, and my completely clueless younger brother, is anything but.
My journal, my invaluable collections of nostalgia and my only means of escapism from this intolerable coexistence, is all that barely constrains these conflagrative feelings of rage, keeping it from seeing daylight and consuming the lives that it so ravenously desires. Cabin Fever. Yet, this should be the logical result from the introversive characteristics that compose me. Barely allowing my skin to bask in beautiful rays of our gigantic star, or chilled by the icy winds of the desolately beautiful winter; this is me, this is who I am. Yet I have come to accept this, to cope with this.
Unbeknownst, I deeply posses feelings for a female, a fellow peer, whom of which I believe already has a companion. I capitulate to fact that I hardly know her, or that falling for someone while so blinded by such a veil of ignorance is, quite agreeably, idiotic but this does not change that fact that I still feel this way. Along with these seemingly spontaneous feelings of compassion, I have logically come to poetry. Dozens of poetry have I committed to memory. These are poems that I can recall at a moments notice to instill into myself feelings of warmth, or conversely, feelings of desolation.
At times of idle cognition, I can quite easily comprehend how Jesus loved so prejudicially, and so wholly. Then, as if reassuring me of my mere mortality, I recall instances where the all immersing fires have ebbed to the point of existence, where a preordained wave of shame and disgust then washes over me. This sensitivity, I believe, both of compassion, and its counterpart, animosity, exists as if to balance me out.
Before I stumbled upon the literary art of poetry, I never had such feelings of compassion or rage. Therefore, I assume that the devil on my right and the angel on my left first appeared along side the unveiling of this beautiful art. As to further support this assumption, these times of incontrollable anger are either preceded or succeeded by the absorbing feelings of desire.

Here is another piece of literature of mine.

My thoughts on war are that there are no winners in war. Quite conspicuously, war scars the earth and launches the human psyche into irreparable turmoil; needless to say, war is unnecessary or so we believe. Yet it is our ignorance that allows us to go about or monotonous lives as these transient events slip in the record books, and into the back of our minds, so carelessly teetering on the edge of the abyss that so many amnesiacs are all too familiar with. War, although we may not want to accept it, is inevitable. To take an event to this extremity, this action, is most usually a just cause.
Adolf Hitler, a megalomaniac, ventured to dominate this planet and instill an iron fisted rule, all through the means of propaganda. War prevented this misguided individual from attaining such ludicrous dreams. War, like most things, is not a perfect solution to resolving conflict, yet, in some cases; it is quite a logical move. War has its pros, and its cons.
What does war do to humanity? Rather the question, seeing as war is a byproduct of the human mind, should be: What do humans do to humanity? It is our apparent nature that brings about the differences that leads to the bloodshed of so many of our male youth.
To this day, anthropologists ponder whether the hand was the ultimate result of the brain, or whether the brain evolved to bring about more suitable uses of the hand. Though we are the same, it is through hereditary tradition that there exist so many differences amongst man. Through the study of animals, from the most primitive to the most advanced, one can vaguely see an evolution chain, through which one can come to a logical conclusion that evolution has a preordained destination. So, these institutions, the physical representations of mans relatively advanced ability of conceptualization, the rampant perplexities that plague man, these problems, created with the willful intent of destruction; man has brought this upon himself. So to speak, man as a species was doomed at the precise moment of the undissociable pairing of the brain and the hand. Yes, I know that that does sound a little cryptic, but the above statement does hold some value of truth.
In conclusion, war is an inevitable event amongst man, due to the many differences that separate us. Although we may think of war as something separate from ourselves, we have to remind ourselves that war is brought about by a brain similar to the one currently sitting within the confines of our skull.



Friday, November 10, 2006

Can we put work up?

your work is very poetic.

please don't double post. if you want to add something, use the edit button.

also, if you want to showcase your work, make a new thread for yourself.

anyways, back to the topic at hand.

your writing is well written. however, it seems as though you are lecturing, and also trying to use large and complicated words for the sake of sounding intelligent. it isn't that bad, but the best writing is simple and from the heart. everyone can understand with it, and the small words and simple frases are almost always the most poetic. everyone can understand it, and it's how you're thought process works. you don't think in those words, so why should you strain your brain to read them?

Originally Posted by sperm worm

please don't double post. if you want to add something, use the edit button.

also, if you want to showcase your work, make a new thread for yourself.

anyways, back to the topic at hand.

your writing is well written. however, it seems as though you are lecturing, and also trying to use large and complicated words for the sake of sounding intelligent. it isn't that bad, but the best writing is simple and from the heart. everyone can understand with it, and the small words and simple frases are almost always the most poetic. everyone can understand it, and it's how you're thought process works. you don't think in those words, so why should you strain your brain to read them?

Actually, I do it to add variety to my writing. Besides, I've learnt all of the words used from previous readings, so I'm actually not straing my brain to read it.

woot finaly found a place to put poetry XP any wayz here i go:

The the wondrous red sea
Opened wide to the vast life
Neither man or beast heard of tales
Of where they came from or how were they made
They just keep coming back for more of the sweet red nector
It lays to open to give life to the tree's but there is nothing to give thanks to
As the big red sea swallows them whole....

Hope ya guyz like the poem ^ ^