Sophia comes

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TRGLDTE

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Things that were not, can no longer be. How does one value one's self? Odd measures come to mind. So many questions to ask, but to whom could they be posed? So they stay unanswered. A nagging thought that won't go away, a pattern of life noticed. A friend should certainly call when they are in need, that's what friends are for; but, they should call sometimes when they don't need a thing. Go, pick-up the phone, now dial. You owe me an apology.

Dark haired, dark-eyed beauty, you came into my world in need. I shared your burden, gave of myself, lost sleep, and even bled for you. The first constraint lost, perfection sought. Joints, disjoints, convolutions in space. We finished before the time, we won the race. Now the crisis done, you leave.


(To be continued)
 
Troglodyte27 said:
You're clueless. This is not porn, but allegory. Sophia is not a woman (nor is it a man).

Idiot.
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Trog, you left yourself open to that, lol. I enjoy writing my little highbrow allegories too. I also enjoy lowbrow humor, and I don't usually cuss people out for making fart jokes.

I'll have to look at this a bit more to understand it... my usual style is to state thing directly, I don't really do or understand most symbolism.
 
*sigh*

You want me to tell you what I really think about it, Trog? It's a set of melodramatic cliches. "We finished before the time, we won the race. Now the crisis done, you leave." - endings like that, for instance, are the most ordinary thing in the world.

It's constructive critiscism, Trog. Try not to get angry.
 
Troglodyte27 said:
Things that were not, can no longer be. How does one value one's self? Odd measures come to mind. So many questions to ask, but to whom could they be posed? So they stay unanswered. A nagging thought that won't go away, a pattern of life noticed. A friend should certainly call when they are in need, that's what friends are for; but, they should call sometimes when they don't need a thing. Go, pick-up the phone, now dial. You owe me an apology.

Dark haired, dark-eyed beauty, you came into my world in need. I shared your burden, gave of myself, lost sleep, and even bled for you. The first constraint lost, perfection sought. Joints, disjoints, convolutions in space. We finished before the time, we won the race. Now the crisis done, you leave.


(To be continued)
Click to expand...

Is sophia your dog?
 
Watermark said:
*sigh*

You want me to tell you what I really think about it, Trog? It's a set of melodramatic cliches. "We finished before the time, we won the race. Now the crisis done, you leave." - endings like that, for instance, are the most ordinary thing in the world.

It's constructive critiscism, Trog. Try not to get angry.
Click to expand...
It's not done yet. It's a first draft.
 
uscitizen said:
Hemingway is a favorite author of mentally disturbed people.
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Hemingway is a favorite author of anyone who knows anything about art. He wasn't mentally disturbed and nothing he wrote would indicate that. Mentally disturbed people don't usually write or make or read art, being locked away in their asylums as they are. This is contrary to the (completely idiotic) vernacular belief that if your insane suddenly you become good at making art. :cof1:
 
All mentally disturbed people are not in asylums.
Approx 30% still think Bush is doing a great job.

Thompson Hunter was not in an asylum ?
A very mentally stable person :rolleyes:
 
Troglodyte27 said:
Things that were not, can no longer be. How does one value one's self? Odd measures come to mind. So many questions to ask, but to whom could they be posed? So they stay unanswered. A nagging thought that won't go away, a pattern of life noticed. A friend should certainly call when they are in need, that's what friends are for; but, they should call sometimes when they don't need a thing. Go, pick-up the phone, now dial. You owe me an apology.

Dark haired, dark-eyed beauty, you came into my world in need. I shared your burden, gave of myself, lost sleep, and even bled for you. The first constraint lost, perfection sought. Joints, disjoints, convolutions in space. We finished before the time, we won the race. Now the crisis done, you leave.


(To be continued)
Click to expand...




Trog I think it is beautiful!
 
Watermark said:
Hemingway is a favorite author of anyone who knows anything about art. He wasn't mentally disturbed and nothing he wrote would indicate that. Mentally disturbed people don't usually write or make or read art, being locked away in their asylums as they are. This is contrary to the (completely idiotic) vernacular belief that if your insane suddenly you become good at making art. :cof1:
Click to expand...

Hemingway wrote stupid sentences. They were short. They were ugly. It looks like he was in a competition with his friend. About who could use the most punctuation. In a single book.

Even trying to write like Hemingway makes me cringe.
 
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