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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: We Are Incomparabledots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: orderly conduct
    Elite Ratio:    2.44 - 51/80/36
    Words: 958
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 889
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 5209



    Description:
       I need to write a piece for the newspaper. And since all ideas for writing a decent article vanished i decided to write this. Please comment, good or bad, it doesnt matter, just leave reviews. Thank you.



    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsWe Are Incomparabledots
    -------------------------------------------


    Like a Hard-boiled wonderland and the end of the world I began writing this piece. With expectations greater than the outcome of ďAmericas next top modelĒ and a plot as solid as every Family Guy episode. But I must stop, and warn you. This was a piece written merely to pass time. This goes nowhere; it has no plot, expect nothing, read it only once and words 2-10 in the first sentence of this piece was the title of some psychotic oversea book Haruki Murakami wrote in 1985. Moving on, Iíd firstly like to clear up a few problems we might have along the way. I am hoping (dearly) that after reading this piece you and your large (spare me) group of friends will discus it at great lengths. Sitting around in some expensive restaurant that serves martiniís to underage kids just for the sake of it. And all of you will giggle once the waiter walks away. Mumbling how everything that went on in that horrible place was inhumane.
    ďCant believe he actually gave us the martiniĒ
    ďWhat an idiotĒ
    ďDid you read that thing in the newspaper?Ē
    And so on...But as all of you can see from just this first paragraph my inspiration has been shot, ripped apart and run over by cars the employees working at liquor stores drive. No, wait, that sounded much too Kelly Clarkson even for this high school (the part about being ripped apart). But my inspiration has been ripped apart, and the goal of this article has lost its purpose. Since none of us really care what each of us have to say to each other. May it be on topics of politics, or even the perasuco jeans you bought from that idiot in whatever store you stumbled into. Stopping for just a minute here and asking you readers, do any of you now know the point of this piece? Truthfully speaking of course Iím only writing this to seem intellectual, witty and on the move with current events. Iím deeply wishing that at least one of the 3 listed traits have surfaced at this point.
    But these days the only way to seem even mildly unique is to make a statement. A statement. What is my statement? I should make one, like the girl selling lulu lemon pants at the mall. With her hair dyed pink, spiked in different directions wearing a shirt with a skull on it. She was, of course, as the cool kids put it ďhardcoreĒ. It was a disgusting sight. She smirked at me as I walked by because my hair wasnít pink and I wasnít wearing live-strong bracelet. I was tempted to yell out some obscene remark artistically put together to tell her that she looked bad. But I didnít. I kept walking. Out of the store. The floor. The stairs. The door. The sidewalk. The parking lot. The neighborhood. The city. The country. To move, to a place where romance happens as often as car accidents and blizzards. Where Paris is an understatement to the lit up downtown streets in May. Where people forget about hairstyles and everything relies on tone of voice and proper coffee. Where families are completely relevant and we must all wear metal chains with metal numbers assigning us to our imaginary guardians.
    Oh no, that sounds too degrading. Just like their descriptions of me on irrelevant November afternoons. They told me I was a pessimist. They told me I was aloof. They told me to write down all the sins I had ever done just because the Christian newsletter in their mailbox said so. They told me to buy contacts. They told me to cover my head to escape the unneeded echoes of the rain. They told me to continue walking towards my delusive contentment. That unearthly kingdom of secluded ships carrying scene kids and poser Goths. With their hair dyed black, sparkly lip rings and silver eye shadow. Running in opposite directions to show as much non-conformity as they all could. While speaking rapidly of nonexistent death and intoxication. Fast as snakes on frozen water. Hissing. Assuring. Until death becomes us. Forcing all of them to whisper to each other unkept promises of joining various cults. And somewhere else. Miles away. In another place, in another city. There are people tracing their pale feet on the sand. Dancing in twirls in their blue summer dresses. Promising each other that the ocean is actually an illusion they dreamt up when the sky was limitless and blue. This is warmth. This is real. This is sad.
    Even sadder than all the cups of coffee I told everyone I drank. Which I actually didnít. Because I donít drink coffee. I just tell everyone I do, and go to cafes to seem like someone who enjoys Shakespeare and is hopelessly in love with literature. Because the smells of coffee will make us sink into our own versions of surrealism. This is what they saw in the cafť I sat in. Their eyes peering through the foggy windows whispering to me that my costume wasnít brilliant enough. While I tried my best to ignore them I still felt sick with expectations. The boy a few tables away wrapped his scarf securely around his neck and walked into the hush of the night. Like me, who walked in on Halloween and walked out 13 days later. Dreaming tired dreams of getting this piece published and getting a new wallet, with the sounds of loneliness repeatedly ringing in my ears.




    Submitted on 2005-11-13 20:04:26     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      This reminds me of Quentin Tarrantino attempting an abstract-expressionist painting while snorting a truckload of cocaine through a vacuum cleaner attachment! This is some of the wackiest, strangest, most off-handedly blase psychodelia I've encountered on this site. This is an insanely brilliant hodgepodge of images that remind me of Japanese new wave cinema (or Asian cinema in general, for that matter). I agree with the first post that there is no 'point' to the piece, but that is the point, these are strictly images resembling the verbal headwound of an imaginative mind. Nicely, nicely done.
    | Posted on 2005-12-03 00:00:00 | by rws | [ Reply to This ]
      hhmm, it's frightening how much you remind me of myself... at varied points in my life... this style, has an intensity to it. I like it, if you take it somewhere it could have be something. Iím sure Henry miller or Hubert Selby jr used to write just like this. I know I used to. The thing about this piece is you donít try (or am I wrong ) now I donít mean this to be offensive, but rather that you spat this out hoping for it be something. And it is. But the key to giving this kind of writing style is taking the something and shaping it.

    Some of your description was very goodÖ well, had very good wording. And thatís what Iím a sucker for, a while place phrase can make me cum.. at the end, that part about Halloween.. that was lovely.

    As for fashion, f uck it. Those Goth kids have never even heard of the damned, that silly punker girl has no passion for music. This is what I have seen, that kids dye their hair and tear their jeans for other people, not for themselves.. or even the music.. so I my self no longer care. I dress as me for me.. Currently I am still wearing my pajamas and ignoring class.. fun fun.

    Now I am not sure, but you seem young still.. high school.. my age? And a girl I think.. I donít know but thatís the image I got from reading this.. any way this is my comment.. Iím gonna go read some other stuff

    I liked it a lot though

    Flipside
    | Posted on 2005-11-17 00:00:00 | by milo stills | [ Reply to This ]
      Hmmm...? Ok...lemme start by saying this is a most original write. I have not read anything that I could compare this to so as far as originality goes you got it! I did find this witty, mostly in the first half of this as you were talking to the reader as they read. I kept looking for meaning or a purpose to this write, something I could identify with or relate this to, but I cant. I dont know what the significance of this is. I will say that it is very well written, and I saw no grammatical errors at all. I like that. I hate spelling errors in writing, after all, the words are what make the impact, and if they are spelled wrong, they lose their value. You speak of many things here all of which I see no connection. I am not sure why you mention the fact that you dont drink coffee but you tell people you do. Overall, this leaves me kinda confused. I saw no ultimate point. But well written nonetheless. Not sure if this comment will help you in any way but this is my opinion. Take care.

    Lorna
    | Posted on 2005-11-15 00:00:00 | by lmz | [ Reply to This ]


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