The Surrealist / Stream of Thought writing Thread
- Thread starter AchrisK
- Start date
zabu of nΩd
Free Insultation
- Feb 9, 2007
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DarkBliss
...And okra for all
A phone conversation:
A: Hello.
B: Is it Mr. Schpock?
A: yes, who's babbling?
B: It's my mother. Tell that dear hermophrodite of yours to come and mow my dark hairy grotto when he returns from his goat splicing contest.
B: how are you fucking him over...hmm I mean what are you paying him?
A: five kidney stones per an acre of skin flora, as we agreed.
B: moo moo.
A: too too to you moo.
A: Hello.
B: Is it Mr. Schpock?
A: yes, who's babbling?
B: It's my mother. Tell that dear hermophrodite of yours to come and mow my dark hairy grotto when he returns from his goat splicing contest.
B: how are you fucking him over...hmm I mean what are you paying him?
A: five kidney stones per an acre of skin flora, as we agreed.
B: moo moo.
A: too too to you moo.
panzerfaust666
German Asshole
V.V.V.V.V.
Houses Ov Mercury
...No. M&Ms are solely chocolate flavored. Straight milk chocolate. The chocolate Skittles include flavors like brownie batter and I think dark chocolate in addition to a vanilla creme tbh
Ender Rises
Wass sappening?
A ceiling fan with scythe blades churns the air in this home, buster brown. Cuz we all needs some air churning. I know I do. Without air churning we would live forever in a little cage with a cellmate who has a fetish for your feet and a coaxial cable with your TV's name on it. The hangers command me to do terrible acts against those who would threaten the sanctity of calenders with horses on them.
seedofvengeance
Boosh!
I went out and bought some when you guys first started posting about it and no one got it when I kept calling them shittles. Eh, the personal comedy was fun anyways.
zabu of nΩd
Free Insultation
- Feb 9, 2007
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"Hey Lester, I caught me a blue sausage in the well out yonder t' other day."
"That warn't no sausage, Lester. That was a big ol' cy'nide capsule the gov'ment done buried out thar."
"Aw shucks, I done fed it to mah uncle..."
"That warn't no sausage, Lester. That was a big ol' cy'nide capsule the gov'ment done buried out thar."
"Aw shucks, I done fed it to mah uncle..."
zabu of nΩd
Free Insultation
- Feb 9, 2007
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Ah, it's been a while. I miss the old nonsensical bullshit thread.
Please to introduce Mr. Particles, he is the fifteenth man on the moon to win the annual rocket-bra design competition twice consecutively while balancing an egg on his uvula. Master the art of counterclockwise chewing tobacco forgery, and you'll be the next President of Asteroid 38174 Ceres!
It was a much expectacled event, where might have done never further expectacles. After that, Abraham Spaghetti took my purse for a box of catapeanuts, and yet he denied that I was the one divining any freshness out of your sack. For thatward so atypical, he seems you unicorns don't flush right anymore Tuesday than yourselves somewhere beyond an Altumerometer. A fork. Spluttermeat. It's all you gonna wash, boy.
And so 18 caterpillar years after the fall of my 64th chest hair, I found myself standing at the Robin Williams era North Pole, and searching for that bag of change that was supposed to get me off the earth, around 5 planets, and then crash-landing on the floor of my kitchen in a DXM-induced stupor. But without your left grandma hanging from my chin anymore, I couldn't find the opportunity to find to wish your pet salad a happy Fifty-First birthday. Been anymore? 'Cause it's a tulip poker.
Friday - went to school. Found a tentacle under my desk. Hung it up in my locker for lunch, and came back later. It had turned into the U.N. World Food Program. Everybody in Armenia gets a nice blue-green log for Christmas. Closed my locker, went to class. Teacher said it was 8. I only saw 4. But my senses told me he was actually a stuffed panda from that pawnshop in Istanbul where I found Jesus. Jesus nukes Santa, so I decided it was time to get Robin Williams out of the North Pole. Maybe pasties can help me solve the mystery of ruubaba.
aba
Please to introduce Mr. Particles, he is the fifteenth man on the moon to win the annual rocket-bra design competition twice consecutively while balancing an egg on his uvula. Master the art of counterclockwise chewing tobacco forgery, and you'll be the next President of Asteroid 38174 Ceres!
It was a much expectacled event, where might have done never further expectacles. After that, Abraham Spaghetti took my purse for a box of catapeanuts, and yet he denied that I was the one divining any freshness out of your sack. For thatward so atypical, he seems you unicorns don't flush right anymore Tuesday than yourselves somewhere beyond an Altumerometer. A fork. Spluttermeat. It's all you gonna wash, boy.
And so 18 caterpillar years after the fall of my 64th chest hair, I found myself standing at the Robin Williams era North Pole, and searching for that bag of change that was supposed to get me off the earth, around 5 planets, and then crash-landing on the floor of my kitchen in a DXM-induced stupor. But without your left grandma hanging from my chin anymore, I couldn't find the opportunity to find to wish your pet salad a happy Fifty-First birthday. Been anymore? 'Cause it's a tulip poker.
Friday - went to school. Found a tentacle under my desk. Hung it up in my locker for lunch, and came back later. It had turned into the U.N. World Food Program. Everybody in Armenia gets a nice blue-green log for Christmas. Closed my locker, went to class. Teacher said it was 8. I only saw 4. But my senses told me he was actually a stuffed panda from that pawnshop in Istanbul where I found Jesus. Jesus nukes Santa, so I decided it was time to get Robin Williams out of the North Pole. Maybe pasties can help me solve the mystery of ruubaba.
aba
The Ozzman
Melted by feels
Valerie
¯\(ã)/¯
- Aug 29, 2005
- 6,765
- 4
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Einherjar86
Active Member
I don't do much stream of consciousness stuff. But I love surreal writing. Here's a poem I did after a few nights of nightmares:
The Nine Foals of the Night Mare
Of a night I went to sleep and did not wake:
A night as dark and deep as any sea,
In which I drowned a thousand times or more.
With fear my lungs were risen to the brim.
My bed-sheets; cold as winter ice they were,
And seeped into my skin, their talons latched.
My tears did freeze upon my darkened cheeks,
Though cry them I did not know I had done.
My mind was soaked and heavy with lament,
As like a dampened rag hung in the cold
And shaken in the hardened northern gust.
My heart cried forth in agony and pain,
And as its scream ran rampant through my veins
My muscles tensed and withered like the rose
That cannot stand against the cold and dry:
My soul is battered, crippled by my curse!
The moonlight does not shine for me;
My night is black as black can be.
My death was shown to me as visions rose
Before my mind’s eye, like a dreamer’s trance
Induced by some hallucinogenic drug;
Some opiate ingested unawares.
My thigh was struck by some rapacious teeth,
As though it was being eaten from within;
It fires my nerves and leaves them numb and vexed;
I claw upon my flesh with nervous nails.
The harpies fall upon me like a plague,
The weight of Charybdis presses on my frame,
The sirens beckon me with tainted grace,
As sail I do through dreamscape oceans vast
That roll through ages of the human race
And fall upon the shores of ruined lands,
Where slaughtered dreamers roam in somnolent bands
And sing a dirge both haunting yet unheard.
Their dreams fall short on shores of Lethe,
Which flows to seas of drought, and death.
Nine black foals I imagined came before
Mine eyes and pulled behind them my demise;
A terror great but indescribable.
Now where have all my words of terror gone?
I’m speechless as a babe without a tongue,
Incapable of any expression at all,
Except for what my eyes reflect. The storm
Now gathers up before my weakening soul,
And all resolve floods forth from out my limbs
Like air that seeps from out a pierced balloon,
And limp go all my passions and desires.
I’m stranded on a barren rocky isle.
I’m left behind on cliffs with broken wings,
And stranded on a bark without a sail;
There’s no escape for me now from this fate,
There’s no salvation granted from the gale.
I cower in defeated pose,
And flounder in repeated prose.
The nine foals of the night mare carry me
Into a world that’s all bereft of time;
A world where tortured beings damn their gods
To raise their hopes from out a hopeless vale.
My heartbeat slowly weakens in the wake
Of all this; my eternal curse of sleep.
The light of day shall never greet my eyes
Again, nor part the curtains of my room.
Oh gods of night, where hence has fled my sun?
Oh gods of sleep, where hence has fled my morn?
I’m stranded within my eternal plight
Of madness, and of sickness, and remorse.
Oh Father, why hast thou forsaken me;
Damned me to rot in this forgotten hall?
And so resign to sleep; I sign my peace
And hurl all hope into the limitless sea.
If a ship may come my tale to keep,
Let it find me in a dreamless sleep.
The Nine Foals of the Night Mare
Of a night I went to sleep and did not wake:
A night as dark and deep as any sea,
In which I drowned a thousand times or more.
With fear my lungs were risen to the brim.
My bed-sheets; cold as winter ice they were,
And seeped into my skin, their talons latched.
My tears did freeze upon my darkened cheeks,
Though cry them I did not know I had done.
My mind was soaked and heavy with lament,
As like a dampened rag hung in the cold
And shaken in the hardened northern gust.
My heart cried forth in agony and pain,
And as its scream ran rampant through my veins
My muscles tensed and withered like the rose
That cannot stand against the cold and dry:
My soul is battered, crippled by my curse!
The moonlight does not shine for me;
My night is black as black can be.
My death was shown to me as visions rose
Before my mind’s eye, like a dreamer’s trance
Induced by some hallucinogenic drug;
Some opiate ingested unawares.
My thigh was struck by some rapacious teeth,
As though it was being eaten from within;
It fires my nerves and leaves them numb and vexed;
I claw upon my flesh with nervous nails.
The harpies fall upon me like a plague,
The weight of Charybdis presses on my frame,
The sirens beckon me with tainted grace,
As sail I do through dreamscape oceans vast
That roll through ages of the human race
And fall upon the shores of ruined lands,
Where slaughtered dreamers roam in somnolent bands
And sing a dirge both haunting yet unheard.
Their dreams fall short on shores of Lethe,
Which flows to seas of drought, and death.
Nine black foals I imagined came before
Mine eyes and pulled behind them my demise;
A terror great but indescribable.
Now where have all my words of terror gone?
I’m speechless as a babe without a tongue,
Incapable of any expression at all,
Except for what my eyes reflect. The storm
Now gathers up before my weakening soul,
And all resolve floods forth from out my limbs
Like air that seeps from out a pierced balloon,
And limp go all my passions and desires.
I’m stranded on a barren rocky isle.
I’m left behind on cliffs with broken wings,
And stranded on a bark without a sail;
There’s no escape for me now from this fate,
There’s no salvation granted from the gale.
I cower in defeated pose,
And flounder in repeated prose.
The nine foals of the night mare carry me
Into a world that’s all bereft of time;
A world where tortured beings damn their gods
To raise their hopes from out a hopeless vale.
My heartbeat slowly weakens in the wake
Of all this; my eternal curse of sleep.
The light of day shall never greet my eyes
Again, nor part the curtains of my room.
Oh gods of night, where hence has fled my sun?
Oh gods of sleep, where hence has fled my morn?
I’m stranded within my eternal plight
Of madness, and of sickness, and remorse.
Oh Father, why hast thou forsaken me;
Damned me to rot in this forgotten hall?
And so resign to sleep; I sign my peace
And hurl all hope into the limitless sea.
If a ship may come my tale to keep,
Let it find me in a dreamless sleep.
zabu of nΩd
Free Insultation
- Feb 9, 2007
- 14,620
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Wow. Fucking nice. Lots of tactile/fleshly images. And I found the cold, dark, oceanic theme really immersive. Great atmosphere. You do have a few lines that break the iambic pentameter form, though (not talking about the periodic couplets), and it's kind of distracting. Try and work on those. I can make suggestions if you want.
zabu of nΩd
Free Insultation
- Feb 9, 2007
- 14,620
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Only without possibility may the hip-hop phenomenon achieve canonisation within the Holy Catechism. Before this, a whole frenchmen of years ago, I saw a small butter balloon spending the rest of his years in hard labor, running the printing press of Emperor Mickey Mouse IV on the hot desert moon of Altabantazar.
Once the dark moon falls, and adding an eighth cup of shugar to the delicate suspension of fluids, the octopus doctor found a way to make baby burned babies in the stream of a flying peanutbutter stopped train under purple pennies until DICK AND JANE GO TO SCHOOL and continued to laugh uncontrollably as his pet spider's liver flopped around in the tank for about eight hours (not counting the 8).
x.O
:
:
:
:
8)
On the 12th day of the 12th year of Our Lord Zerg, with the skin of six million soccer moms, we shall summon forth the great and powerful demon Bal'Sackroth, and his ravenous legions of tittering cupcake fairies. Very unlike our Uncle Sarcophagus he is, and similar in just as many ways to a #2 pencil submerged in boiling teargas. But only if popcorn is involved. Otherwise I'm demanding my money back.
And thus, splitting his lemons with ease, the old man wearing a cactus for dentures left me with this little adage:
Bannable bananimals asking for laminar pajaminals might turn cannibal if you ram their granules against a span of damnable contaminables.
Once the dark moon falls, and adding an eighth cup of shugar to the delicate suspension of fluids, the octopus doctor found a way to make baby burned babies in the stream of a flying peanutbutter stopped train under purple pennies until DICK AND JANE GO TO SCHOOL and continued to laugh uncontrollably as his pet spider's liver flopped around in the tank for about eight hours (not counting the 8).
x.O
:
:
:
:
8)
On the 12th day of the 12th year of Our Lord Zerg, with the skin of six million soccer moms, we shall summon forth the great and powerful demon Bal'Sackroth, and his ravenous legions of tittering cupcake fairies. Very unlike our Uncle Sarcophagus he is, and similar in just as many ways to a #2 pencil submerged in boiling teargas. But only if popcorn is involved. Otherwise I'm demanding my money back.
And thus, splitting his lemons with ease, the old man wearing a cactus for dentures left me with this little adage:
Bannable bananimals asking for laminar pajaminals might turn cannibal if you ram their granules against a span of damnable contaminables.
Einherjar86
Active Member
I appreciate any constructive criticism. I know there are a few lines that break the meter. I've tried to work with some of them, but a few have probably eluded me. Anything you can offer would be great. Thanks bro.
Also man, some of your writing is reminding me of Mark Danielewski, the author of the book House of Leaves, who was in turn influenced by beat writers like Kerouac and such. Really cool, creative stuff. I love the stream of consciousness stuff, it's just not my writing style. Great stuff though.
V.V.V.V.V.
Houses Ov Mercury
False Joe
Who cares.
woo.i had a weir tlak withmy mate,
it as proper from the heart shti#.
his grandad had justdeid ad so we hjust start taking aboutg how we wanted to goband shit. was proper god like.
it as proper from the heart shti#.
his grandad had justdeid ad so we hjust start taking aboutg how we wanted to goband shit. was proper god like.
zabu of nΩd
Free Insultation
- Feb 9, 2007
- 14,620
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Some shit I wrote tonight:
Blood-black doors erupting with fire
An aching fills my lungs as I stand before a pyre
An army of ash-rays storming the skies
Stirred alight by Black Magic
Hear their dusty cries as they fly.
Set sail for Avalanchia...
Flags flew on the masts of speeding ships
as meteors rained from the red-black heavens
No hint of stars shone through those thick clouds of fear
Many ships sunken through the Greyrock Pass
And many more spirits guarding the riches beneath its waves
A corner of the earth few dare to explore
As a myth is far safer than the truth...
Blood-black doors erupting with fire
An aching fills my lungs as I stand before a pyre
An army of ash-rays storming the skies
Stirred alight by Black Magic
Hear their dusty cries as they fly.
Set sail for Avalanchia...
Flags flew on the masts of speeding ships
as meteors rained from the red-black heavens
No hint of stars shone through those thick clouds of fear
Many ships sunken through the Greyrock Pass
And many more spirits guarding the riches beneath its waves
A corner of the earth few dare to explore
As a myth is far safer than the truth...
