The Surrealist / Stream of Thought writing Thread

[zabu of nΩd]

Thank you, sir.

Oh, and I'll get to those suggestions at some point, I swear.

 

[Einherjar86]

Thank you, sir.

Oh, and I'll get to those suggestions at some point, I swear.

No problem man, whenever you get the chance.

In the meantime, I have another I thought I'd post. This one's also based on a dream (most of my "surreal" ones are):

Untitled: A Dream
Upon a bark, upon a stream,
Down waters swift we rode;
Within the darkness of a dream,
Towards waterfalls we flowed.
We yearned for where the river came
Abruptly to an end,
For there our spirits, free of shame,
The One-eyed would commend.

We gripped the shafts that bore our steel,
And screamed upon the tide;
The rapids’ rocks had torn the keel,
And hewn the starboard side.
My arm I could no longer feel,
My brothers all had died,
Save two, who by my side did kneel
And roar in feral pride.

We raised our swords towards the sky,
And bellowed in a tongue
Of heathen kin-a pagan cry-
As water drenched the lung.
Before our eyes the shores did fleet,
As did our lives still young,
Which we, like blood soaked in a sheet,
From out the sheet had wrung.

Forth I did shout my father’s name-
Recalled my mother’s face-
I saw my wife, who always came
To me in my disgrace.
I heard my son; his laughter rose
From memories long past-
Would this, my life, I still have chose
To have it end at last?

We come now to the end of all,
Where waters fall to fate,
And course beyond the waterfall
Where stormy graves await.
I scream and thrust my blade on high:
“Valhalla!” comes the call;
And blood adorns the pagan sky
From which my brothers fall.

My eyes open in dreariness;
The dark smells of despair.
I feel consumed by weariness
And terror as I stare
Upon a cave where echoes rang,
A cavern deep and wide,
From which I see in thousands hang
My brothers who have died.

 

[zabu of nΩd]

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.

Okay - true to my word, I have fiddled with your work and come up with this. I tried to be conservative in my edits for the most part, but you'll notice a few places where I kind of inserted my own thoughts. Apologies if it strays too far from the original - I just felt like throwing some ideas out there. I may actually end up making an even more butchered version of it some day, since I really like the piece a lot, and I'd like to contribute more ideas to it.


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 flooded to the brim.
My bed-sheets: cold as winter ice were they,
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
As though induced by psychoactive herbs -
Some opiate ingested unawares.
My thigh is struck by sharp, rapacious teeth,
As though t'were being eaten from within;
It sears my nerves and leaves them numb and vexed;
I claw upon my flesh with nervous nails.
The harpies fall upon me like a plague,
Upon my frame Charybdis' weight is pressed
The sirens beckon me with tainted grace,
As on I sail 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 ragged 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 imagine come before
Mine eyes and pulled behind them my demise;
A terror great but futile to describe.
Now where have all my words of terror gone?
I'm speechless as a babe without a tongue,
Unable to express myself at all
Except by what my eyes reflect. The storm
Now gathers up before my weakening soul,
And all resolve floods forth, out through my limbs
Like air that seeps from out a pierced balloon,
Expelling 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,
Lamenting through repeated prose.

The nine foals of the night mare carry me
Into a frozen world bereft of time;
A world where tortured beings damn their gods
To raise their hopes from out a hopeless vale.
My heartbeat slowly weakens from all this,
Weighed down by my eternal curse of sleep.
The light of day never again shall greet
My eyes, nor part the curtains of my room.
Oh gods of night, where hence has fled my sun?
To where my morning flown, spirits of sleep?
I'm stranded in this everlasting plight
Of madness, and of sickness, and remorse.
Oh Father, why hast thou forsaken me -
Damned me to rot in this forgotten hall?
At last, resigned to sleep, I sign my peace
And hurl all hope into the boundless sea.

If one day does a ship emerge
Out from this hazy deep
To learn of my tale, may it find me
In a dreamless sleep.

 

[DarkBliss]

Most excellent.

 

[Einherjar86]

Awesome, thanks vihris. I read the whole thing a couple of times and really like some of the metrical changes you made. Some of the lines flow a lot nicer now, and I definitely am wondering why I didn't think of some of the words you chose to use. I really appreciate your contribution, I think collaborative poetic efforts are too few and far between these days. Perhaps someday we can release a joint collection of poetry for publication. Similar to a Wordsworth/Coleridge Lyrical Ballads deal.

 

[zabu of nΩd]

'Twould be pretty badass. I've tried some collaborative stuff with one of my high school friends who does some good poetry, but his style is pretty different from mine. His poetry tends toward the philosophical/metaphysical side, and mine is more sensual/image-oriented. He's also a very un-cynical person, and his writings aren't nearly as dark. I have a feeling I'd mesh better with you. The main issue is just getting the motivation to do anything.

 

[zabu of nΩd]

Untitled: A Dream
Upon a bark, upon a stream,
Down waters swift we rode;
Within the darkness of a dream,
Towards waterfalls we flowed.
We yearned for where the river came
Abruptly to an end,
For there our spirits, free of shame,
The One-eyed would commend.

We gripped the shafts that bore our steel,
And screamed upon the tide;
The rapids’ rocks had torn the keel,
And hewn the starboard side.
My arm I could no longer feel,
My brothers all had died,
Save two, who by my side did kneel
And roar in feral pride.

We raised our swords towards the sky,
And bellowed in a tongue
Of heathen kin-a pagan cry-
As water drenched the lung.
Before our eyes the shores did fleet,
As did our lives still young,
Which we, like blood soaked in a sheet,
From out the sheet had wrung.

Forth I did shout my father’s name-
Recalled my mother’s face-
I saw my wife, who always came
To me in my disgrace.
I heard my son; his laughter rose
From memories long past-
Would this, my life, I still have chose
To have it end at last?

We come now to the end of all,
Where waters fall to fate,
And course beyond the waterfall
Where stormy graves await.
I scream and thrust my blade on high:
“Valhalla!” comes the call;
And blood adorns the pagan sky
From which my brothers fall.

My eyes open in dreariness;
The dark smells of despair.
I feel consumed by weariness
And terror as I stare
Upon a cave where echoes rang,
A cavern deep and wide,
From which I see in thousands hang
My brothers who have died.

Didn't want this to go uncommented, so:

First off, nice work making it all rhyme. I usually avoid that in my poetry, just because it's so much work.

Overall, this one doesn't grab me as much as the other, perhaps because it's more straightforward, and repeats a lot of common archetypal viking themes (listening to Bathory when you fell asleep? ). Though sailing off a waterfall is admittedly an unusual end to meet.

Here's a bizarre what-if for the poem: if there were something more to the waterfall, such as being some sort of mythical gateway to another realm where the vikings continue their quest, as opposed to just meeting their end. I'm just thinking of the kind of weird mythological plot devices that are used in, for example, Bathory's Blood on Ice, where the protagonist experiences things like losing his eyes and heart, but those experiences actually transform him in spectacular ways, and are vital to the success of his quest. I was reminded of that when I thought of the vikings in your poem sailing off the waterfall. Feel free to do with that idea (or not) as you see fit.

Favorite lines:

"Would this, my life, I still have chose
To have it end at last?"

"Where stormy graves await."

 

[Einherjar86]

Well, here's the deal with this poem. It's based on a dream I had in which I was riding in a boat with two others down a river. In the dream, we knew that a waterfall was coming, but we actually wanted to reach the waterfall and go over the edge. We had a yearning for death, which is why in the dream I screamed "Valhalla!" I've studied and read a great deal of Norse mythology, so it makes sense that it came through in my dream. Basically, Vikings considered going to Valhalla to be the ultimate honor (as I'm sure you already know ). In the dream, that's what we wanted; the ultimate honor, to sit beside the gods, eternal glory, etc. In the dream we reached the waterfall, went over the edge, but the bottom of the waterfall was very shallow, and as we fell I could see jagged rocks protruding from the water. I knew we would die, but I wanted to. When we hit the bottom, everything went black. I blinked, uncertain whether or not I had awoken. Then, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I realized that I was in a huge cavern, seemingly limitless, and from the ceiling hung thousands of others who I knew were my kin. It was the exact opposite of eternal glory, honor, and a golden hall. It was dark and cold. Terror swept through me, and when I blinked again I was in my bed, staring at my ceiling.

I think the dream reflected my fear that we might expect great things (whether in life or death), but those expectations may fall short.

 

[zabu of nΩd]

Yeah, I hadn't really considered the significance of the last line. Makes the poem a little more interesting now that you point that out. I guess I was expecting the poem to be more ambiguous than that since it was based on a dream - i.e. it seemed pretty weird that the characters were sailing into a waterfall, so I wasn't really thinking too hard on what they were expecting from their deaths.

 

[SWAT]

Yes I am a king in some other Netherlands, and like to drown out my sorrows in some tasty vodka because I like that shit so much. And what if we were to all take our radios and all at once play them to the tune of Microsoft? Would this not be the most spendifourus cock sucking thing you have ever seen or just plain fantastic?

Whatever may come of this I want to let the American people know, I have complete and utter faith in this writing that I am creating. So please do enjoy my muffins they are free at an additional charge for my money, ok everyone have some tits today and see ya in the future.


With this work of mastery, I think we can officially end this thread now.

 

[Einherjar86]

You mastered the art of being a faggot.

 

[SWAT]

You mastered the art.

Oh wow, thank you, I suppose I did.

/thread

 

[Einherjar86]

You're a dork.

Don't post here if you don't like it.

 

[zabu of nΩd]

There is admittedly a fine line in this thread between interesting, slightly-literary posts and inane spam. I'm not really sure where it lies myself, but we've certainly seen some differences in opinion about it. I genreally try to avoid posting stream-of-thought writing here unless I feel I've put a decent amount of 'thought' into it.

 

[AchrisK]

No! Thought is not what ought to be caught in the bend near the tree where the antelope rot!

 

[Vimana]

Whenever I read this thread I picture Ein and Vihiris in a field together with notepads sitting next to each other writing poems. In a non gay way.

 

[Einherjar86]

'Twould be pretty badass. I've tried some collaborative stuff with one of my high school friends who does some good poetry, but his style is pretty different from mine. His poetry tends toward the philosophical/metaphysical side, and mine is more sensual/image-oriented. He's also a very un-cynical person, and his writings aren't nearly as dark. I have a feeling I'd mesh better with you. The main issue is just getting the motivation to do anything.

Well, if I ever get a publication deal I'll contact you. I'm eventually going for my doctorate in literature, so I should have some publication connections.

@Feathers: I've actually done that before with another one of my friends who is a writer (also in a non gay way ).

 

[zabu of nΩd]

That would be even more badass. Perhaps once this fucking summer class of mine is over, and I have time to think again, we can work on some pieces together.

 

[zabu of nΩd]

I lichen thee to a spaghetti bowl, whence thou dost perceive the lone blown-up to the epiphanies of spite.

To the proclivities of splife.
Undying wylde is my wyfe.

 

[zabu of nΩd]

Taste your turn, burn and burn - an eight from my fields will you suffice?
Unknowingly pregnant, scarlet and felonious, do you not find yourself counting the toes on the very bottom of the Moon?