[identity profile] dreamfire.livejournal.com
art wank.

that is selecting which of my 100 word bits I might be prepared to read if there is an open mic session on friday after the poetry reading that I'm not that keen on cos its not Joolz this time but that I'm gonna go to cos at least it gets me out of the house and its only in Lincoln...

so, a poll then. And it really is cos I'm not sure which to go with not just because I want to get you lot to read my writing all over again. Its a series of polls in fact yes or no for the pieces I post here. f there are two 100's together before a poll that would be because I reckon they are inseperable. bear in mind I'll be able to read maybe three selections max so don't go trying to flatter me and saying yes to all of them please!

here )

whilst doing this I discovered I stopped 100words the day the war broke out. it wasn't a conscious decision.
I also discovered I can't fix the stupid poll creator - Ians given a nice format for none to taxing replies - I'll try and sort it later - got a Utena download to watch

the poll for easy responses is here
[identity profile] jfs.livejournal.com
Sing to me a song of the sky, oh my brothers and sisters.

Sing loud, sing hard of the joy of the wind and the rain and the sun and the ease and the rest.

Sing sweetly of sunshine. Tell me of the warmth on the back as you soar above the clouds. Remind me that as you swoop and swarm you stretch out to touch perfection. Play games and recount them to me in stacatto syllables; who could fly fastest, furthest, highest, lowest. Who banked east, then west, who looped until the world became irrelevant to gravity and the sky was the sea and the sea was the sky.

Fly above the weather, my siblings. Tell me of racing the clouds to shelter. Remind me of the rain which tries to batter you to the ground, and the savage joy of reaching sanctuary, bruised, soaked, dripping but defiant. Look at those around you and recount the stories of lightning and storms, of pressure and of perils, of flying in fog and mist with the rain droplets weighing down your wings.

Sit on the highest tree and survey the world. Tell me of the East and the West, and the creatures that spend their dull weary lives in only one place, never knowing the joy of movement. Recount the flight from North to South, chasing the sun as she hides from the cold. Tell me of the hunt and the chase, of the back and the forth.

Sing to me, my brothers and sisters, for my wings are broken, and my feathers bedraggled. Sing, sweet siblings, as I die.

Sing to me a song of the sky.

Sing to me a song.
[identity profile] shadowdance.livejournal.com
Just wanted to say hello, as i've just joined.

I mainly write for escapism, thoughi haven't for a while.
I'm hoping that reading this journal may prove to be my muse.
[identity profile] mskitsune.livejournal.com
Can't Help Myself )

i was half-asleep when i did this. i was in class and i had to keep myself awake so i just grabbed a pen and a piece of paper... ^_^
[identity profile] mskitsune.livejournal.com
hi! i made a poem and...[shrugs] just thought you might want to comment. :) actually, i don't really know how to make poems ^_^ i just write what comes into mind... ^_^

Making Me Fall )

gellien

Jun. 30th, 2003 11:01 pm
[identity profile] dreamfire.livejournal.com
the beginning of a character sheet we never used... but I am very fond of this piece of writing.

it would need reworking to be a short story and not a character sheet, and the punctuation is as ever, lousy )
[identity profile] romney.livejournal.com
Here is a page of the start of something which I can continue with if anyone for some strange reason wants to read more.

Searching )

Ooops

Jun. 24th, 2003 11:38 pm
[identity profile] winterdrake.livejournal.com
Let's try that again, with the cut tags written properly :).

You get the idea... )

Part 3

Jun. 24th, 2003 11:33 pm
[identity profile] winterdrake.livejournal.com
Frankly, this is where I'm pretty sure I started to lose it. Comments, as always, more than welcome.
More of Confession. With any luck, one more post will finish it. )
[identity profile] winterdrake.livejournal.com
More of the previous, for those that might be interested (if any :)

Confession, continued )
[identity profile] nyarbaggytep.livejournal.com
about posting a pome on here - as have not really showed much to people before. But really want honest feedback - say it like it is please.

I wrote this when the war in Iraq started.

Horror writ large )

hi!

Jun. 23rd, 2003 06:48 am
[identity profile] mskitsune.livejournal.com
er..i'm new. :)
--meg--

Handshake

Jun. 22nd, 2003 11:41 pm
[identity profile] ephraim.livejournal.com
As a a part of my need for motivation I posted a thingy in my own journal last week asking to be set a task. Brian wanted something entitled "Handshake" in 500 words. Here, at 500 words exactly, is "Handshake" - it's not terrifically good, but it's done.
Handshake )
[identity profile] maleghast.livejournal.com
Dear All,

I have wanted to contribute all week and would have done so earlier, if it were not for the simple fact that work has been a nightmare this week and is set to get worse b4 it gets better.....

Anyway, here is a big bunch of text.... )

Apologies to those who have already read it....

More to follow - I have continued with this and will post Chapter 1, Part 1 as soon as I have finished it.....

G'Night!
[identity profile] winterdrake.livejournal.com
This is from a while back, and the bginning of something I never finished (although, god help us all, there is quite a bit more of it than this). All comments etc. gratefully received. Apologies for any unreasonable length.

Confession )
[identity profile] naughtywhitecat.livejournal.com
Absolution

First death. After death, lies.

The lies were meant for the good, to save feelings, a demonstration of compassion. At least that what I say to myself now.

I don't know the truth, I know what I want to remember, and I know why I want to have acted the way I did. I just can't be sure.

I have some desire to know the pure, abstract truth. What kind of person am I? What did happen? Should I still play the memory over and over again in my head? Do I deserve to be able to forget my mistakes?

The last thing I'll forget is the noise. A short, sharp, crack. I can hear it now, and like every other time it comes into my head - deliberate or accidental - it takes all my determination to keep my composure.

I imagine what it looks like when I remember - maybe my bottom lip quivers for a moment before I pick something to fix with a stare. The front of my head hurts, I become hot, and I'm sure flushed.

After hearing the noise I see the blood. It's crimson - more vivid and less real every time I see it. Does that mean anything? I don't think so.

The blood is an extra though - it's the noise that cuts through me.

On Waking.

Jun. 18th, 2003 12:08 am
[identity profile] jfs.livejournal.com
She always made her best decisions just after she awoke. There is a clarity to thought when it is unencumbered by the cares and worries of the passing day. Just after waking, before moving, she was able to assess the world, and see problems and solutions as dancers moving harmoniously across an empty ballroom.

She had split up with him after a long day, driving from the northern tip of Wales to London in the pouring rain. They had been arguing constantly, and she was very tired. She was never sure if that had been a good decision or not.

He had showered her with words and attention, phoning her every day. She had fallen into a rhythm of ring tones, expecting to hear his voice in the morning and the evening. Their chats were inconsequential, never more than three or four minutes long, and rarely touched on topics of any importance.

He had become a regular fixture in her life, and it seemed only sensible to make him a part of the rest of it. They had dated, kissed, touched. They fumbled and learnt of each other, slowly, step by step. And then he asked her to marry him.

Marriage? At her age? None of her friends wanted to get married. They were all stretching their wings, learning where the boundaries were, if they existed at all. Life was for the living, they would say, as they gathered around small glass tables in mirrored bars, multi-coloured bottles of modern alchemy in front of them. Don’t tie yourself down. Don’t commit. Grab for ourselves what they’ve had for ever.

They.

Always opposition. Always small warbands of whooping warriors on the bass filled battlefield. The language of war, not of love or even like.

They were all night time decisions too.

That’s where the rot started. She would later blame arguments, lack of care, drunkenness. But it was the proposal that caused her to wake each morning, his snoring form beside her, to think. She didn’t dream of a white dress and a train, nor did she see 2.4 children and a cottage in the country, roses climbing the walls and a dog barking.

She saw a lack of choice, and a loss of freedom. Her morning thoughts began to echo her night despairs, until she began to mistrust them both. How could she not get married? They were in love.

And then came the drive. They had been doing a walking tour of north Wales when all the doubts and pressures and anxiety came to a head. It had been while he had been droning on and on and on about some war or some castle or some king. He had been standing on the edge of a granite outcrop and she had been filled with the overwhelming desire to just push him off the cliff and drive home in perfect silence.

Splitting up was less likely to get her locked up in jail for the rest of her life.
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