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thepastinfuture's profile
AGE:
29
LOC: Pittsburgh, PA
GEN: Male
LAST LOGIN: October 24
LOC: Pittsburgh, PA
GEN: Male
LAST LOGIN: October 24
I guess an easier way, a way to say how I feel without all the run on sentences is that what matters in the all too brief, hopefully bright burning life is the little things. Because there are no big things, there are no absolutes, it all ends the same. So you cling to and help create as many of those little well springs of hope moments any chance you can. They come in any number of shapes and sizes. For fucks sake, one may happen to you and you won’t even realize it until one dark afternoon, sitting alone, waiting for the dusk to surround you and become night. You, me, sitting there, becoming suddenly struck. Smiling to yourself. That is all there is, that is what matters.
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Time standing stopstill, just for me.
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They don’t know (Wednesday evening) My space, my life, my world is alive, tonight. I’m assuming the usual position on the couch watching it all happen, spreading my carefully focused energy on at least three things. I could never do just one thing, still can’t, get bored too easy. My friends are doing the dance that’s become pretty standard before heading out for the night, to get a little looser, to forget the things in the day before the sun reappears. I used to get so fucking excited when...
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I am so tired my body hangs useless from this imaginary framed and gathering dust on the doorsills shattered, the light pouring in to my old apartment with the air stale and you could see it I remember sitting there tap-tapping The place would fall silent Down through the rain pouring alleway river running rats tick ticking claws on the frozen ice crystals growing on top of buildings held up by only the other buildings crumbling side by side and by god I love the old buildings with their insi...
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what a fool games played what a child chances taken what a life hope is born what a time madness swirls what a person love is there what a place a line drawn Where does it begin this never ends
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The beginning, as it were (Wednesday) The Sun. A line drawn between shadow and light on my face. I’m awake. What time is it? This is no early morning sun. This is that sharp and angry late morning sun. Move, roll over, go back to dreaming. The strength to move, barely. Moving away from the encroaching daylight, deeper into the shadows. Closer to being trapped. The day will have me, soon enough, not yet, though. Not yet. Still to sleep, to rest, to dream. Awake, again. The sun methodically cha...
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I like the piece as a fable/morality story/uplifting Christmas thing, but I think it would do much better about twice as long. Fill in the blank spots with detail, not too much so that the theme gets lost but more about the sad man, the lost man.
These are both fantastic. The first moves wonderfully, paced perfectly. By the end I missed him too. The quote is the best part of this one, so easy to imagine, visions of grandfathers, fathers passed, with their sayings, things that at the time seem just like passing words, but once gone, mean everything. The second, everything, the imagery (butterflies as big as babies' bellies), the opposing pictures (black coffee, white sheets). Beautiful. Something so warm and vivid and gentle, something...
Grateful. That's so refreshing, and hopefully honest. I love the fact that you've revealed that thing that so many writers hide, ignore, or deny, that fear and uncertainty that the things we put to paper are mostly shite and that no one will want to read them. By acknowledging your gratitude you've spoken so much more honestly to the nature of the creative life than I think most people are wiling to do. Thanks.
It's scary, you've generally made it easy to picture the scene, the blackness, the fear, focusing on each and every breath. The visceral fear welling up inside your character, that's very good. This whole piece needs to be expanded though (even though just a prologue). I lost the movements of the character when s/he fell and hurt their knee and head, that's a bit unclear, I couldn't picture the movement, the landscape that lead to the particular injury. In such a stark setting, and using a vo...
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First, I completely understand the sentiment you are trying to convey. However, this really feels like copping out. This sort of tautology, this just seems like you couldn't boil your thanks down to six words, but went ahead and submitted this for the six word exercise regardless.
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