I don't know what style this is, but take a look. Suggestions welcomed!

[Nien]

I write for fun.

That's the bottom line. I'm not all that great at it and I have a ton to learn, so please, give me suggestions, tell me what you like and what you don't like, but DO NOT flame.

Thank you!

 

1.

Hatred.

It’s strange; I have never felt such hate for anything in the world. But this beast. This wretched animal. Staring at me from the darkness. It’s blind, pale-grey eyes locked on to me as I sit on a bed sized, water-smoothen rock, a stone throw across the silent, deathly-grey creek. My heart just overflows with contempt, far beyond what I have ever felt.

Not even a feeling of murder or destruction. Just pure hatred.

Its worming, malnourished head, slightly swaying back in forth atop a long, serpent-like neck as it continues to peer through the slight fog at me, sniffing ever so slightly, tasting the air -- my skin, my scent, my breath.

 

What’s strange is I don’t remember how I got here.

Sitting alone, as the ashen clouds drift lazily through the sky, in some unknown forest by a seemingly dead creek, sinking silence. But the beast, it seems to be all that my memories entail, intoxicating. Its eyes remind me of nothing, yet everything: as if my past eternity has been consumed, or better yet filled with silence.

 

But the scariest thought is, underneath the hate -- and disgust. I think I have loved this disgraceful creature. Whether this affection was past, present, or consumed in my future, my memories do not aid me.

Flashes of lightning, exploding the surrounding: clamoring soundlessly.

The beast cringes at the sudden lighting of the silence, a rumbling thunder from far off predicting the beginnings of acid. Coiling its head over its sharply boned back. Another crash of sight and sound.

He writhes in the suffocating senses.

 

Within moments, she’s gone.

It’s intoxication seeping away with each breath.

 

Gone. A gurgle of water of stones begins to come back to my ears. A single drop of rain hits my nose, startling me to reality; memories fading fast, faster than the flash of a smile or the blink of an eye.

 

Silence. Darkness. My eyes open. A warm body, cotton covers, the patter of rain on the roof, my book resting lovingly on my chest; the light dimly lighting a single wall of my room. The hatred, love, silence, grey, the rain, the creek. Seeping away.

 

2.

I thought the dreams were over.

The breaking, crashing, silent, throbbing, whoring dreams.

 

You know, the ones you awake: sweating as if the marathon your mind just ran was actually real.

Or the ones where you awake: so cold, so very cold -- checking for the loved one you thought was there, who really wasn’t.

Sometimes, I find myself awakening: seeing nothing but seeing everything; not sure whether to move -- paralyzed by a fear of nothing, or maybe just the fear of being awake.

 

Drifting to silence. I fall, down, stagnate slumber.

 

 

 

 

 

A faint reminder of a deep, sinking, heart-corrupting hatred slashes faster than lightning through my mind.

The ash continues to drift by on the lifeless, gray waters.

Gray. The color, yes, color: overtaking every other color, actually, accentuating all colors, yet binding them to It's will; intoxicating the eyes, enveloping all other colors.

Nothing more than air enters my lugs, yet I feel like I’m literally drowning: sucking in each breath, as if the last hit was nowhere near satisfying enough. Whether the fact that I’m barely breathing is because of my inability to actually move or the fact that the Gray is swallowing everything -- I do not know.

My lungs press hard against my heart, pushing the weight up, higher, higher. Through my esophagus, my neck, my eyes, to my brain.

Clouding, filling, inhaling my thoughts. Evolving.

Everything becomes a Gray silence.

 

I’m not sure if I’m actually thinking or just dead.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Drop.

 

 

 

Gray.

Ceiling.

I actually can grasp a memory of the heaviness.

The heavy heart. Seconds, the pillow. And into deep slumber, I take my dive.

 

3.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Think. Think clearly. Breathe. Look.

 

Four. Three. Four. Two, one. I try to distinguish what’s actually hand and what’s finger. My eyes blur, enclosing and encumbered.

 

 

Masks, gas, masks. They drift through the trees -- over the ash -- staring, peering, terrorizing the landscape.

 

Their eyes peering through perfectly circular goggles into the utterly dark, yet luminously pale evening sky.

 

Ha. Vultures; no masks. They eat the sky. The horizon consumed by their dark eyes. Their haunting feasting, tearing eyes.

The potent, poisonous, intoxicating gas irresistible, corrupting, destroying the world as it spins just slightly atilt. Fog falls.

 

A flash of distant, terrible memory, ash, gray, hatred, darkness, her. The beast, its eyes, no, its wretched, sweet scent.

 

Sniffing.

 

 

A crown, blood. A demasking of what’s nature.

 

While still naturally hidden to I, Love broke the nature, removing what was mine.

 

From one, through one.

 

Clean.

 

Rescue, no, Love. Forgiveness?

 

4.

I can hear it.

I can hear it.

The anger. Acidic. Corroding the air.

 

With every syllable he says, the air thickens: swimming with emotion.

 

The flashing memories of the creature form in my mind. Comparing -- every word, every motion of the hands, every pin-pointing glare -- to it, she: him.

His eyes begin to transform into those lifeless, blind grey orbs of silence.

His head, morphing into the serpentine monstrosity, and flailing like a tension cord being cut.

In a single shuttering glimpse, her entire form changed -- the beast.

 

I don’t waste a single moment; my legs move in quick retreat faster than my brain has time to react: to even utter a terror-filled scream.

My mind becomes numb with the senses; the pleasure begins to flood back through the memories.

Fleeing.

 

 

 

 

Why?

Why has he returned?

I melt into the fire. Sobering. Sleeping.

 

 

[hide=More Personal-styled Writing]

 

1.

She’s more than I deserve.

‘cause quite frankly, I deserve no more than an eternity burning and sinking in a bowel of fire and wrath.

 

 

You know, the future is the most uncertain thing. So why worry focus on it or what it entails?

The present moment tips and dives into and upon eternity; and the past is a glassy sea turned to petrified silence: unmoving and fading.

I know, there will come a time with no more tears; and then love, no, it won’t break our hearts.

 

I get so pulled down by things, so easily.

And only when I really focus on what I should be focusing on do I really see, my life, my thoughts, my actions, her, clearly, no fuzzy mists.

“When my heart was grieved and my spirit embittered, I was senseless and ignorant; I was a brute beast before you. Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will take me into glory. Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” (Psalm 73:21-26)

Lord, may MY heart ever be focused on You.

So, I may learn to even scrape upon the surface of the ocean that is Your Love for us, Your Children; and ultimately reflecting that unbelievable bliss, which is Your Love, upon those who matter to me beyond what I can even describe.

 

Shalom.

 

2.

Thinking is just so hard when you can’t breathe.

I just don’t even know what to think anymore.

 

Is it true that all good things must be fought for in order to stay that way?

 

Love always perseveres.

Only when both truly love, right?

 

The nightmares of lost-trust. Haunting.

 

 

I can’t seem to sleep these days, myriads of shadows twisting my mind: my dreams.

I forgive because He first forgave.

I love because He first loved.

 

So I must trust. I must hope. I must protect. I must persevere.

No matter the trial.

No matter the cost.

His Word should be enough, and even more so: she’s worth it.

 

O, my gracious Father, my King, my Savior.

I am weak.

I am tired.

Dismiss my fears, thanksgiving-fill me with peace.

For I cannot fight the oppressive darkness that is my selfishness, my idolatry: my sin.

I am not alone.

 

Shalom.

 

3.

The subtle drop of moisture.

 

A tear.

 

Experts say that tears chemically help sadness and depression.

But what for those whose hearts are so gone beyond that a tear can’t be spilt.

What if the ever-full cup is always empty? Not allowing a single drop to spill over?

 

I sit in a comfortable, warm bed, with tea in my hands and a cat by my side.

And a good book.

And emptiness.

And emptiness.

 

He, she, it stares over my shoulder: looking in onto the passage I am reading, whispering a copy of every word I ingest, O the Irony of it all.

Breathing down my neck, the spine-standing, yet clenching on because without the emptiness, there’s nothing (which in itself is something).

 

So to push.

To understand.

To hope.

 

I.

I just don’t.

I just don’t understand.

 

 

Sinking into my heart, into the stone, the cold.

Giving all is the beginning of understanding. Maybe?

 

I give You all my heart.

The cold, metallic case that it is.

I cannot carry it; the weight of it, my strength fails me.

 

 

“So let us know, let us press on to know the Lord. His going forth is as certain as the dawn; and He will come to us like the rain, like the spring rain watering the earth.”

 

 

[/hide]

 

 

I just write what comes to me, so yes, some of my stuff is influenced by my religious beliefs, be tolerant as you wish, its appreciated.

I hope you guys enjoy what I have to offer (and this list will grow as time goes on).

 

Hold fast,

Nate (69 Nine)

[Guest Rob]

The style of writing here makes me think of a combination of poetry and classic story-writing.

 

I'm not a literacy expert, but I'll offer some suggestions based on what I've learned from others. Let me start by saying that I really enjoyed these and I think you have a lot of talent. I'll offer what criticism I have, then what I liked about it.

 

The main problem for me was that some of the sentences were quite lengthy, while your style of writing seems to rely largely upon imagery. Longer sentences, in general, make things harder to visualize, despite sounding (for lack of a better word) deeper. For example: "Its worming, malnourished head, slightly swaying back in forth atop a long, serpent-like neck as it continues to peer through the slight fog at me, sniffing ever so slightly, tasting the air." I had to read this twice over in order to picture it correctly. Had it have been broken down into two, maybe three sentences, it would have been easier to visualize and understand while retaining its original meaning.

 

That's really the only issue I see here. The rest seems to be beautifully written. You avoided the mistake that a lot of amateur poets do - that is, using long/uncommon/complicated words in order to sound more poetic while making things harder to visualize or take in.

 

One sentence I really liked: "But the scariest thought is, underneath the hate -- and disgust. I think I have loved this disgraceful creature". That to me is clear, concise, emotional and makes the reader think about what you're writing about. Keep it up! I'd love to read more from you.

:)

[Nien]

The style of writing here makes me think of a combination of poetry and classic story-writing.

 

I'm not a literacy expert, but I'll offer some suggestions based on what I've learned from others. Let me start by saying that I really enjoyed these and I think you have a lot of talent. I'll offer what criticism I have, then what I liked about it.

 

The main problem for me was that some of the sentences were quite lengthy, while your style of writing seems to rely largely upon imagery. Longer sentences, in general, make things harder to visualize, despite sounding (for lack of a better word) deeper. For example: "Its worming, malnourished head, slightly swaying back in forth atop a long, serpent-like neck as it continues to peer through the slight fog at me, sniffing ever so slightly, tasting the air." I had to read this twice over in order to picture it correctly. Had it have been broken down into two, maybe three sentences, it would have been easier to visualize and understand while retaining its original meaning.

 

That's really the only issue I see here. The rest seems to be beautifully written. You avoided the mistake that a lot of amateur poets do - that is, using long/uncommon/complicated words in order to sound more poetic while making things harder to visualize or take in.

 

One sentence I really liked: "But the scariest thought is, underneath the hate -- and disgust. I think I have loved this disgraceful creature". That to me is clear, concise, emotional and makes the reader think about what you're writing about. Keep it up! I'd love to read more from you.

:)

 

Thank you for the input!

 

That may be a good description of what it is. I enjoying reading stream-of-conscious type writing (Joyce being the first author to come to mind), but I am in no way even close to something along those lines (yet).

 

Ah, I understand, and you're totally correct. In my newest addition, I tried to work on that some (let me know what you think).

 

Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it, the more input, the better. :)

 

 

Update-ish:

 

Added a more personal writing section (don't read it if you're going to flame), feel free to critique the writing style if you wish.

 

I also added another of my recent writings, its on the shorter end and probably not that good, but I wrote it in under 15 minutes (I'm timing myself to see what I can do in certain lengths of time). Let me know what you guys think!

[Nien]

Added some more writing.

Take a look.