The Creativity Thread

Wow, given that you were 15/16 when you did this - the content is a bit, well, adolescent, but thats ok, given the age - but the technique is very good! So I agree with NL that some recent stuff (if there is some) would be rad!
 
a few glasses of red wine are inspiring ;)

"On blinding ways I find the reflection of myself
Tear stained, bleak in the colors of my life
It is not as dark as it seems, it’s just me, don’t you see?
I’m standing on sleepy soil, hunting my own shadows
Out in the ruby skies life rises again
Within me, deep inside the hopes forsaken as you left
But in the corner of my eyes I still seek you
Wherever you went with my dream shades
The anguish you will turn your back on us lies within me
It is so cold here now but I’m not freezing in the rain
I just feel the longing to return to my Eden with you…"
 
Hey, thats really good!! Yet you still drift to the whining and descriptive-ness or literal stating, naming your emotions. I know you take your stuff differently and do it mostly for the sake of relief, but I think you could write great stuff, if you manage to get hold of the images in the head of your heart and write like "from up above", with different, more observant perspective. This one is perfect up to "Within me, deep inside the hopes forsaken" including this one. The alliteration stressing the "S" sound sounds great, its wonderful climax being the refrain "skies life rises". After that you begin to whine and the magic is gone. Dont get me wrong, Im writing this only cause I like what you wrote, not the other way round. :)
 
thanx for the really good critique, I like to hear constructive critiques as it always makes u evolve... but u are true, from the moment u were telling where I start to whine again I got a bit out of inspiration and finished the poem just for the sake of finishing it, I should consider another ending maybe if I'm that inspired as for the first sentences again :) yeah true the second parts is very pathetic there, just a few feelings from the deep inside that I wanted to vent in a way, but I'll try to give another ending to it :)
 
Maybe you should cut the part you dont feel good about and leave the first part only - for me it has perfect sense. I like poems with open endings or sort of unfinished. I dont like when Im told everything. ;) Keep them coming!
 
Ive just found this one under the pile of books on my bedside table. Its about a year old I think. Its more a song, I write some for a death band my friends have. Ill post some lyrics later.

Bitten Through

A halo of pre-suppositions
Surrounds your thoughtless brain
An aura of unintentions
An immobile, motionless pain

Since youre born youve felt
The weight of this bodybag
Your uncertain certainty
An omnipresent question tag

The mirrors without
Shape the mirror within
Your mouths bitten through
Your second skin

A halo of pre-suppositions
Surrounds your thoughtful brain
An aura of intentions
A mobile, deep biting pain

Born anew you feel
The weight of this bodybag
The impossible possibilities
An omnipresent question tag

The mirror within
Shaping the second skin
Your mouths bitten through
Your own broken chin
 
Here's an extreme short story I finished recently. Don't read it if you're easilly offended by sexual violence, and bare in mind it's my first (short story). I'm trying to make a point. I might be failing and just describing a fuck load of disturbing shit, that's for you to decide I guess. If you can actually be bothered going through it, wouldn't mind a bit of criticism. thanks in advance.

"On The Wall".
Suddenly I have the urge to change position. I split wing, straight, loop, land; all in a blink of mans eye. Seeing things in so many ways is imperative to an existence: Such is mine. I watch and absorb so many images, all the same, all with similar discourse; but I cannot compute them. I cannot feel for what I cannot understand, and all I understand is instinct.
~~~~ This wall, it is covered in shit. Steam condenses and sticks to the surface, slippery and damaging; wet shit, water drips now stained with the summoning stench. Shit distracts everything. I am drawn to it, humans can’t stand being around it, beasts smell and eat it out of curiosity. The epitome of unclean: The waste of waste. A man wets his body using some machinery – he grooms himself with a fragrant bar of soap; I watch. Groping himself – he is indulging in himself. Inside this box – I am violating my sensibilities. I also need to groom. And shit. And Feed. These things - they will wait.
~~~~ Watching the man I try to understand his instinct. He needs to feel loved and so he grooms to maintain an upstanding appearance. That’s why I would groom if I existed in a man body – for the purposes of attracting a female.
~~~~“I’m in the fucking shower! Stop your begging, you’ll get yours soon enough” He responds to what I assume can only be her mating cry. Questioning language is definitely unorthodox for a specimen like myself: as I don’t think in words. I more or less just feel. This moment is a strange one for me. Un-integral to my survival is the need to understand the man, but I find my self curious, and so I feel I should watch, if only to understand an enemy of my specimen. Another muffled mating cry comes from outside this cramped, sepia, grooming room. The man thing makes waste from his front organ in the tub of which he grooms within. “Woman, I’ve told you, I’ve told you again and again. And again and again.” The tone of the man’s voice rises with a strength, a strength from the inside unlike something I can comprehend. “How many times you fucking bitch? How many fucking times? You should know better by now. By now you should honestly know a lot better.” The man steps out of the cleaning tub and turns a dial; the machine stops making water. He grabs a towel from a shelf and pushes it into his skin. This motion dries him.
~~~~ “Please.” It’s a word coming from a different compartment of this unsanitary man abode. In my state I cannot judge cleanliness, but I see from comparison that this abode is not fit for a man thing to exist. This cleaning room is smaller than most. The waste bowl is covered in shit, and piss stains the floor around it. The walls have some paper-cover on them; but it peals at intervals. The light creator at the top of the room flickers on and off. I find this attractive and so do some of my brothers who kiss the glass around the source of this beauty. “Please!” I hear it again. It’s coming from the woman kind. The man’s expression is filled with an emotion which radiates a painful exasperation, something I don’t have the muscles to do, but something I know would be useful to scare away predators.
~~~~ The man cleans his genitals roughly and throws the towel hard at the wall where it doesn’t bounce and then slides to the floor, landing in a pool of water. I cannot help the urge to take flight, smell, soar, land, walk, embrace. The towel is filled with dead skin; the man’s dead skin. I feed my hunger on some and it is good. He leaves the cleaning room and I follow. Swoop, buzz, lift slightly, loop, thud/land. I have a view of so many images. Now I see the woman-kind is laying still with cloth covering her top-half but her bottom half is naked, except for the bruises. Her face is wounded. “Please!” she says. I cannot understand why she says these words. The man is still bare, uncovered, natural; yet under the skin I see he is very unnatural. His breath comes from him deep and I cannot understand why. It would make sense if he had over exerted himself in some way, but I don’t think he has. Intensity makes sense. Adrenaline before a combat is vital. His intensity intimidates the female kind.
~~~~ The man speaks again directly to the woman. “Is there anyone you wont bend over for? I heard a word today, monogamy, and some people will kill for it. You fucking whore.” I understand death. It is inevitable to us all. It is something that can strike at any minute, and until it does all one can do is survive.
~~~~ The woman whimpers uncontrollably. Humans can be so cowardly. In a hostile situation one must fight. One must not merely lie down. I sense it is fear causing her to cower, yet I would use my fear to fly faster from a predator. This woman; she is petrified. She cannot move. It is shock: Something only mammals feel and something absolutely pointless to survival. “I…” the woman gulps and chokes slightly on her words “I’m sorry”. The man’s hand came down at speed, and with a fist he pulverised her cheek, and again the fist drew back and came down hard into her jaw; causing even more visible damage – a blood leakage from her mouth. She writhed and curled up trying to cover her face from the blows. More punch’s came down but they did not connect with her face: just echoing off her skull and body. Her efforts to defend against the blows become meek with the present clubbing shots. The man stops and backs off: Lights a cigarette, sucks in, breathes out; examines, blows, rubs: his knuckles so raw. “You stupid fucking whore. You are a whore! Can you hear me, you whore?” He grabs her chin and her blurry vacant eyes stare; looking through the man, seeing naught. Her consciousness diminishes for a moment and the man can see she is going to pass out. He thrusts the smouldering red end of his smoking stick into the woman’s face, scolding her eyes, searing her flesh, singeing her pride. She cries out an immense scream, followed by more sobbing. I know the scream. To scream is to call one’s allies for aid. None of her allies are in audible range.
~~~~ Perhaps the man is preparing the woman as food. Cannibals exist in all species. I can comprehend no other reason why man would pound and burn the female of their kind. A slow and painful preparation: Ceremonious and spiritual. Perhaps: or perhaps not.
~~~~ I am glad that I am not the one laying under the man’s dominion. The woman is screaming soundlessly, and it is an odd sight; an uncomfortable sight. Something seems quite very wrong about this picture now. A true pain which the body is in no way prepared for, going against the grain of evolutionary function. A silent scream is the only response the brain can muster through emotion, instinct and reflex. I am glad I am not a human.
~~~~ The man sits on his bed and looks up at his sealing. He remains there locked in thought. The woman still cries. And coughs. And bleeds. After some time the man stands, walks, yells, punch’s more, sits, stands, yells, walks and kicks the woman: now bloody from head to toe, she no longer makes a sound. She accepts her fate. Something I will one day have to do, but I would not do this without first putting up a fight. Is man so strong that he can take away the instinct to defend oneself?
~~~~ “In truth I could never have ever loved a smacked up bint like you. I come home one day and find you with a cock up your arse and come home another to find you with a needle in your cunt. I’m feeling quite sexy right now actually. Are you feeling sexy?” The man speaks from pure emotion. He is trying to scare the woman more; and is doing so. I sense her heart beat increases in speed. The man takes off his belt and whips the woman’s legs; flogs her repeatedly; rips and tears the flesh from her bones. “Stop” she yelps. I wish I understood their language. The man continues to lash.
~~~~ I want to change position. I split wing, loop, glide, buzz, land soft. I am by a window. I see other windows outside this one, with people on the other side; they all look content. The outside is dark, the sun is sleeping for its days duties are done. As I watch the world I hear an accompaniment of roaring machinery from mankind’s metal vehicles, mashed with the moaning of the woman as a whip crack introduces her to more pain. I hear a beep, screech, crunch, shattered glass, scream: and see that on a road two vehicles have collided. A small twitching boy is laying on the side of the road, a fair distance from the broken movement machines, convulsing with broken glass surrounding him. Human instinct is stupid if it leads them to build a thing which destroys them in this way. Ease of transport is what wings are for. Soft, delicate and powerful. Humans should just evolve instead of invent.
~~~~ People outside scream at the sight of the wreckage. Humans obviously just like to scream a lot. They do it every time something goes against their expectations. One passer by tries to pull a carcass from within the decimated vehicle; another moves quickly to the now still infant and takes a clocked bracelet from the child’s wrist and runs. Some people shout but it is no good. The dying boy clearly didn’t need it anymore. I can not relate to why the other humans shout because of the taking man’s intelligent instinct. What good is a wrist clock, to someone who is dead?
~~~~ I look up from the road to a building opposite this one and see an old, fat man who has no fabric covering his hairy body. He is looking in the window where I sit and watch him in his window where he sits and watches I. Perhaps he does not watch me, perhaps he is watching the man hit, whip, pound; torture the girl. Either way, he gropes his genitals in a vigorous fashion. His face is turning more and more red and I can almost smell his sweat from here. Sap spurts from the man’s front organ and this provokes a sudden quaking. Excitement is the word for it, pleasure perhaps. His sap stops spurting now and instead just dribbles down out of the tool of reproduction. He takes a tissue, wipes, scoops, throws, touches; feels cleansed, begins to cry. He looks so distressed now. He is a man who touches himself and gets pleasure; but over the disfigurement of the female kind. Self disappointment, failure in life; tears stain his cheeks and role off his saggy chin on to his hairy breasts. His penis loses its intensity. It flops down between his thighs and dangles pathetically.
~~~~ Some men in yellow hats are cutting at the vehicles. They are unmaking them so a woman, who brought this harm and destruction upon herself, can survive. Why would another human help a woman whose instinct is so absent?
~~~~ Survival is denoted by survival of the fittest.
~~~~ Ones who are entangled in machinery are not the fittest of mind or physicality. The others should let her die. Her survival is in no way essential to there’s. They lift out a torso from the square they have cut in the upper side of the annihilated machine. Her legs are no longer attached, they must have been ripped off by the collision. My mother had her legs ripped off by a boy who took her out of a spiders web. I remember seeing it in so many different ways, all were the same though. He tore away her wings so she could not flee and then picked off first her front legs; so she could not move in a forward direction. She squealed so loud but I could not help, I was mating with another fly. The boy picked off her back legs next and my mother squealed even louder. He didn’t kill her though. He became distracted by some thing else and left her there, in broken pieces. She died because she could not feed. She was unable to continue living by her instincts. Man’s instinct is so hard to understand. If I die by mans hand, I’ll know I died for no reason.
~~~~ ‘A flame which no longer burns, doesn’t cry for whence it once flickered in the breathless moonlight.’
~~~~ The man is tying up the female. She has given up her cries for now. Blood stains the sheets on the mans bedding, the rug which covers his cold floor has sick on it, also something that looks like shit; it may be dried blood. Vocational spirit:
her mind is no longer at one with her body. Driven into quotidian consciousness; and now all she can do is accept silently that she is going to die; and for no reason. The man ties her hands tight to some decorative posts extending from the far end of the bedding. “If your mother could see you now, you know what she’d do? Do you understand how insulting you are? She gave birth to you! She opened her legs and you slipped out like a big piece of shit. And that’s all you are!” The man begins another assault. With a straight practiced movement the man jabs his fist into the woman’s face, once, twice, Crack, Thrice, four times, Crunch, drip. Her features are difficult to define now, part due to her bloody mask and part due to the fact that every bone in her face must have been snapped or splintered by the mans furious beating. Another punch: splat, a sound so unnatural. The type of sound one could not forget. The woman’s eye bulges and for a moment it looks as if it may fall from its socket but the woman blinks, slowly, instinctively, and makes it secure. “I never loved you. Disappointed is what I was. You were a slut before you could spell your own name! I tried to pretend like everything was ok and so did your mother; but no one was ever proud of you and I regret ever meeting you! You hear me? you’d turn out to be some little angel your mum thought. You know how old she was don’t you? Yeah, She was only 14; so I forgive her for being so naïve. I’ll never forgive you though, you sick cunt”.
~~~~ The man plays with his front organ and it becomes more tense. Harder it gets and longer it grows, reaching out for something, Cartilage clicks as it reaches its full potential. The man thrusts the erect organ into the female’s mouth. She stiffens, her toes curl back and a wretched gargling comes from her throat. Smack he moves his pelvis to and fro in a trained repeated motion. Smack. Smack. Smack. The woman’s legs begin to kick quite frantically. She shakes at the penetration. Her already glassy eyes glaze over even more. Her broken face slips and slides as the man stirs her features vigorously. Dipping right out; diving right in; longer strokes now, deeper and more calculated. The woman’s head bounces limply off the post behind her, trapped and fucked.
~~~~ Where I stand becomes moist, there’s condensation in the air. I flick quick, swoop, glide, loop, dive, land with a practiced acrobatic. Everything is upside down now. I walk on the ceiling, irrelevance, or exercise, what we do doesn’t create echoes, it doesn’t create ripples. Each moment dies when a new one is born, and each new second is forgotten a moment later. There’s a crack in the ceiling, I fit through it with ease. Darker now, I am surrounded by my own kind. I sense food, scurry, sniff, split wing, a dead mouse lies; its flesh rotten, a taste. It tastes good. More than enough here for a galva semblance of insects, my brothers know this, and we share, unspoken, a bond and our meat. A female of my species; she without doubt requires fertilisation.
~~~~ Many moments later I’m confident I have done natures work to it. It will mother my children and my children will grow and they too will learn, nothing really matters, except instinct.
~~~~ I find the crack again, crawl through again with a similar ease. The man has finished his work. The girl is dead. He lays naked on the blood soaked bed, a smoking stick in his mouth: he inhales the substance, and exhales something else. Alone now, but for the presence of I, he rests, euphoric, a sense of achievement glows from him. Perhaps to the human kind this is an achievement: To kill and destroy one of their own; a potential mother. I swoop down, my wings flutter and my buzz draws the man’s attention. I land with a silent thud on his nose and look into his eyes. He looks back with recognition of some kind, unexplainable I’m sure, his beady eyes know nothing of truth, of the world outside his wing span, of other flies amongst his pack. The human mind is beyond my understanding. They live not by instinct, they live not by natural practicalities; but this one shares a moment with I, a fly of immeasurable irrelevance. I split wing, loop, drift, slower than normal, edging through the air, buzz, glide, through an open door, through a crack, through the darkness, through a crack, into the real darkness, past the wrecked machinery (the woman is dead), down the roads, past buildings, I rest, moments pass by, I travel further, time irrelevant, dive, loop, swoop, cutting air, battling the wind, I land on a tree. And here I will rest.

On that night, sap dripped slowly down the great old elm, bleeding it out like a tear for the years and change it had bare witness. The fly rested silently and waited. Waited for nothing; exactly how it lived, in a state of bliss? Maybe in a shattered world; where only something so small and insignificant could get by unaffected, by the ignorance of the mankind. The elm bleeds from envy, stuck, motionless, without say, without the choice to live or die. The sap rolls over the fly and in moments the fly is suffocated in the viscous goo, preserved for as many irrelevant moments as a human dares to bother labelling. A flame which no longer burns, doesn’t cry for whence it once flickered in the breathless moonlight.
 
@caro: a lovely pic! Would you mine if I tell you you are the female version of Dani Filth (from CoF)? :D Really, including the ring in your nose, the first thing I thought, wow, thats Dani! :D The verses below are too random, just shooting images with only a vague idea what you want to say imo. Sorry, but thats how I see it. Anyway, I love the pic and your new avatar! ;)
 
@KC: wow, this is some cool shit! You wanted some criticism, I dont have any really. Maybe that part with the accident could be left out, but thats only my opinion. I finished reading Fight Club yesterday, so Im quite into this kinda stuff now. Good job!
 
marduk1507 said:
@KC: wow, this is some cool shit! You wanted some criticism, I dont have any really. Maybe that part with the accident could be left out, but thats only my opinion. I finished reading Fight Club yesterday, so Im quite into this kinda stuff now. Good job!
Click to expand...

Thank you. I really didn't expect a) anyone to read it... and b) Anyone to like it if they did :p. This is encouraging for me, especially being under the 'Same kinda thing Umbrella' as Chuck Palahniuk's work. Thanks again.
 
marduk1507 said:
@caro: a lovely pic! Would you mine if I tell you you are the female version of Dani Filth (from CoF)? :D Really, including the ring in your nose, the first thing I thought, wow, thats Dani! :D The verses below are too random, just shooting images with only a vague idea what you want to say imo. Sorry, but thats how I see it. Anyway, I love the pic and your new avatar! ;)
Click to expand...


nooooooooooooooooooooo everyone tells me that dani thing and I hate it, he is an ugly dwarf :cry:
but glad u liked the pic and avatar, thanx :) and yeah the words were just random vague thoughts, nothing special, just what came to my mind in that moment
 
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