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fragilemacabre — there are nights
Published: 2009-02-20 08:32:12 +0000 UTC; Views: 237; Favourites: 2; Downloads: 3
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Description there are nights

to break things
just to end this silence
there are nights
to start fights
just to startle the inertia

but there's alcohol
and nicotine
sad slow songs
and stupid dreams
that keep me
from sleep
and from you

and on account
of winter and its
endless sooty sky
i'll stay as still
as these stimulants
will allow
in hopes to quiet
the clamor rising
like fat above water
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Comments: 9

TRmUsicTH [2009-11-24 22:21:19 +0000 UTC]

Ok, again I don't know much about poetry, but I feel like this really connects with me. The emotion you convey is what I love.

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Hercynianforest [2009-08-01 20:06:39 +0000 UTC]

Actually, I might like this one more.

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Aladdin-Sane [2009-03-26 14:50:37 +0000 UTC]

I like the line break after the first line; I like that it leaves the proposition that follows without a qualifying context. In fact, I wonder if you mightn't rephrase the first stanza like this:

there are nights

to break things
just to end this silence,
there are nights

to start fights
just to startle the inertia,
there are nights

It gives things a cyclic and perhaps even hypnotic quality, like a record skipping. Because it's an odd construction, it also startles the reader into re-examining its implications. It's as if the speaker is not only aware of their repetitious behaviour, but becoming extremely wearied of it. Just an idea, anyway.

the clamor rising
like fat above water

You could use a definite article before 'water' here, I think.

I like this. Like most of what you write, it seems very complete in itself. I do wonder if you mightn't think of challenging yourself some, though? I'd be interested in seeing what you could do with a larger canvas.

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fragilemacabre In reply to Aladdin-Sane [2009-03-27 00:56:08 +0000 UTC]

Though I am not sure I agree that the last line needs a definite article.

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fragilemacabre In reply to Aladdin-Sane [2009-03-27 00:49:45 +0000 UTC]

You mean prose? I'm itching to get to prose again, but I have not come up with a satisfactory idea. Until I have a concept, I find I cannot challenge myself to write prose.


Also, my job at the moment is very much a creative drain. Not that that's any excuse, but I do find myself much more inspired after I have had a few days not there... alas, that doesn't happen very often.


Thanks for the critique, I'll think about switching it up. I've wanted to go back to stories I wrote (and even some of the poetry) and redo them. Hm.


Thanks again.

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Aladdin-Sane In reply to fragilemacabre [2009-03-27 15:02:49 +0000 UTC]

You don't find that simply sitting down and riffing is sometimes enough? I know that feeling that you have to produce something substantial can be suffocating, after all.

Yeah, my course is the same. Although I'll definitely try to avoid disappearing again once I get back to work in a couple of weeks.

I wasn't seriously considering the switch-up. I was just sitting here staring and it's something that occurred to me.

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fragilemacabre In reply to Aladdin-Sane [2009-03-27 17:54:15 +0000 UTC]

Oh, sitting down and riffing is usually great. But if I don't even have an initial character or phrase, I cannot, cannot write prose. I really need a laptop or my own computer to compose. I share one with my boyfriend and while I can write around him (surprisingly), the computer setup isn't too comfortable for composition.


I feel like I'm making lots of excuses for being lazy with writing. Whee!

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Aladdin-Sane In reply to fragilemacabre [2009-03-27 18:47:51 +0000 UTC]

bit guilty*

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Aladdin-Sane In reply to fragilemacabre [2009-03-27 18:43:27 +0000 UTC]

Funny, I can only write on pen and paper. Something about ink as a metaphor for creative juices that went wildly out of control. As for your boyfriend, yeah, I imagine the ergonomic ramifications of two-to-a-computer aren't great. Be like playing Twister with a mouse and keyboard, I imagine.

Eh, why bother with excuses? I spent today sleeping until noon and reading webcomics. And I only feel the tiniest built guilty about frittering away my existence.

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