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Post by Inaaca on Jan 16, 2006 2:55:28 GMT -8
Broken Bond Starship of flesh Inner drive in devastation Sign of distress Crucial misinterpretation The heavens are vast Disrupted communication! Not one chance to last In this solemn exploration Hither this journey ends In search of the Angel’s HeartCounterpart and sister ship Desolate light-years apart Now let's test everyone's analytical skills. To see if anyone can find out what this really is about. Sure, I'll take your question seriously. Heh, reminds me of my days in Mr. Wood's class. Good stuff. Starship of flesh Inner drive in devastation Sign of distress Crucial misinterpretation Lines 1 and 2 refer to the central character on a long, long journey, or rather, a search. The 'inner drive' probably refers to the heart, judging by the rest of the poem. Lines 3 and 4 are a little tougher.. Apparantly the central character misinterpreted a call for help from another person. My guess is from a loved one, or the love that he seeks. The heavens are vast Disrupted communication! Not one chance to last In this solemn exploration Line 5 simply refers to how impossibly vast the realm is that the central character is searching in. Line 6.. my guess is that he had been in contact with the one that he seeks and that contact had been broken, or perhaps he had been following a trail of clues and that trail had ended. Lines 7 and 8 refer to how impossible the search is becoming, and the central character has now lost, or begun to lose, hope in succeeding. Hither this journey ends In search of the Angel’s HeartCounterpart and sister ship Desolate light-years apart Here in lines 9 through 12, the central character has given up his search, accepting that he will never find the one he searches for. The central character and his counterpart (true love, close friend)? are far, far apart at this point, beyond any hope of finding each other again. Throwing the title into this analysis, "Broken Bond", the purpose of this poem clearly tells the story of one who has lost someone close to him/her, and though he/she tries hard to reunite, the task eventually proves futile and the journey was forced to an end. So how did I do? |
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Post by Captain Galaxy on Jan 16, 2006 10:50:28 GMT -8
OH MY GOD SEAN! You're a freaking genius! Wow! Good job! The only part you kinda missed is that the central character is the one who sent the call for help, and the other character is the one who misinterpreted it. But since there is no clear indication of who did what, rather just the event, you're interpretation would have to be just as valid.
I'm hoping to write a poetry a book, or maybe a little concept album. In any case, there is still more to come!
Anyway, Sean's analysis was very close to what I had in mind, though there could be slightly different viewpoints on this, and I'd like to hear them too.
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Post by Inaaca on Jan 16, 2006 14:46:03 GMT -8
Awesome, thanks. I got a lot of analytical practice back in 12th grade. Fun times.
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Post by The Dankness on Jan 18, 2006 1:13:10 GMT -8
Broken Bond Starship of flesh Inner drive in devastation Sign of distress Crucial misinterpretation The heavens are vast Disrupted communication! Not one chance to last In this solemn exploration Hither this journey ends In search of the Angel’s HeartCounterpart and sister ship Desolate light-years apart Now let's test everyone's analytical skills. To see if anyone can find out what this really is about. I say it's about sex. |
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Post by Captain Galaxy on Jan 18, 2006 9:54:41 GMT -8
you would...
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Post by Muramasa on Jan 20, 2006 21:54:34 GMT -8
What The Heck?!: Tales from Heck vol. 382747492 and a fortpint.
It has come to my realization that it is the "hip" and "trendy" thing to introduce oneself when narrating nowadays. In the spirit of mindless bandwagoning, I shall do so, so I don't feel bad about how dirty my shirt looks. Why is my shirt dirty, you ask? In order for me to explain such a thing, I would have to go into a twelve volume novel describing the fundemental ideas of how a shirt manages to get dirty and how and why a shirt would get dirty in the first place, and out of all those possibilities, how many of them would have duely effected my shirt in such a way as to tarnish it's original hygenic state. I will introduce my name due to the aforementioned reasons, but I refrain from telling the entire story because it's a long story. The limitations of this parchment allow me to only write short stories, hence, this will have to be a short story.
My name is Narrator. Note the explicit bolding of my name, and considering the fact that my nomination also happens to be my occupation, it should be noted that to you, the reader, this should be funny. If you don't laugh, I'll have to admonish you after the story is over.
In any case, I should begin with the story of Fizion Smith. It's always best to start with historical context and what better historical context than a little background history about Fizion in his younger years. Though, now that I think of it, I might as well start with the story Foosion Smith Psy.d Ph.d M.d Ph.d, who is Fision's fathers.
The story Foosion begins in the University of Sudden Heck, which is south of Nordden Heck, which is perpendicular to the little yogurt stand that lies humbly out of the way of the many erect Heck corporations that loom off in the distance from the Core Circle. Foosion was a scholarly man, who was incredibly dedicated to whatever it is a scholarly man does. In fact, he happened to get doctorates in multiple fields, seeing as he has a doctorate in Psychology, Mechanical Engineering, and a medical doctorate as well as a doctorate in music strangely enough. He dedicated a decent amount of time in his studies, to the point that what was on his face could hardly be called a beard. Not in the sense that it actually grew thick and full, mind you, hair was never Foosion's strongest subject, and he was usually subjected to verbal torments from his peers about this unusual fact. Still, he was able to survive the awkward years by copious amounts of scholarly work within his various specialties.
Doctor Doctor Doctor Doctor, as he was sometimes called, devoted an obscene amount of time toward the making of music. Many nights would be spent on perfecting the ultimate ochestrated piece, and this narrator would use more complex musical vocabulary and jargons, but I'm afraid of jargon and music is not my forte. In fact, using his expertise, he built a machine that would produce perfectly synchronized harmonious tunes with strong corresponding emotions. He would spend hours on end with this research, until one fateful day, he decided to play a litany, which caused his heart to stop. This very same litany was played at his funeral. Incidentally, I happened to know the grave digger, and he seemed to be incredibly agitated that day. My cardiologist was ecstatic.
Fortunately for us, Fizion wasn't there at the funeral(as there would be no story for me to tell). In fact, he was never too involved with his father as most of the time and visa versa. He always disliked his father's work, and so, he decided to branch out into other forms of expression, this particular case being writing.
He was never a skilled writer to begin with though. From what I know, the last book he wrote was a book arguing the existance of Satan. Using complex deductive logic, some critics felt that it was the quintessential source for providing a sound argument for those who felt that Satan was very well amoung us. It argued that, due to the overwhelmingly abundant evil that one could find around the city of Heck, it should be obvious that Satan indeed existed. However, much to his chagrin, that book didn't do to well on a popular level though, and sold approximately 4 books, 2 of them which were purchased by his mother, Agatha, who happened to need another paperweight at the time. Besides, everyone knows Satan is dead...
And so, miling about in his room, while carefully pondering his next bookshelf bomb, he decided to head to to get a cup of coffee. The nearby coffee shop was just around the corner, placed right on the convenient and commercially viable location of Brime and Lust. It was called The Infinity Bean.
"This is probably the bohemian experience that I need from a coffee shop. No other place offers a clean, intellectually stimulating like The Infinity Bean," Fizion thought to himself.
It sure does, Fizion, it sure does.
I forgot, there's more context to be had in this little place. This particular coffee shop never sold an ounce of coffee ever since the husband of the current owner died while, ironically, choking on a coffee bean. This was the result of, ironically again, a rare and unusually recessive phenotype that allowed one's throat to react allergically in the event a coffee bean happened to get lodged into his throat. He also had a rare genetic defect of having this throat malformed, making it rather difficult to dislodge object in the event an object managed to get lodged. Sometimes people draw short straws. Others draw long pieces of shit.
His wife, soon after the incident, banned the drinking of coffee in the store as well as the sales of the product. The store happened to be named because the original founder of The Infinity Bean felt that they would be selling coffee until the end of days. The wife, a rather traditional person, decided to keep the name after her husband's death. And business has been booming ever since.
Fizion walked into the store, decided to get something from the worker at the counter. Like most cashiers in coffe shops, he had a self inflating name, and so we shall call him "Supreme Overlord of That Small Little Coffee Shop Called The Infinity Bean". Of course, that's too long, and audiences nowadays can only retain up to 4 bits of information, so we'll have to make it an acronym. His name was SOTSLCSCTIB, which is interestingly, too long anyways. Let's call him Bob.
Fizion gave Bob a confident look in the eye and made a purchase that would echo through the bowels of time.
"I'd like to purchase a quarter."
To be continued...
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Post by You probably can't touch this. on Jan 20, 2006 22:13:18 GMT -8
Billy Jim Jack lives in a mightly thin shack which is mighty pitch black, indeed.
He turned to the cop as he entered a shop and said to the man, "I'm freed."
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Post by Muramasa on Jan 21, 2006 18:09:42 GMT -8
I think that limmerick is racist dawg.
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Post by You probably can't touch this. on Jan 21, 2006 19:44:46 GMT -8
The color of the shack has no bearing on Billy Jim Jack.
In fact, Billy doesn't have a race.
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Post by Muramasa on Jan 21, 2006 20:36:29 GMT -8
Pfft, says you, fo'
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Post by Captain Galaxy on Jan 22, 2006 0:36:45 GMT -8
Is it ok if I only chuckled at your short story opening, Anta? Or will i now burn in the fires of heck?
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Post by Muramasa on Jan 22, 2006 17:47:38 GMT -8
YOU WILL WITNESS THE EYES OF SATAN!!!
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I SHOT HIM SIX TIMES!!!
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Post by Captain Galaxy on Jan 24, 2006 10:26:50 GMT -8
Anyway, Sean, since you're good at this Analysis thing, I wonder if you can find out what I'm trying to say in "Vows." Your imput would be greatly appreciated as you have interesting views on things.
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Post by Inaaca on Jan 24, 2006 17:01:54 GMT -8
...deep...
Yeah, sure, I'll take a look at it later.
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Post by jroseemi on Jan 25, 2006 7:03:30 GMT -8
I have a short story I'm proud of, but... it's not all that short. 15 pages, single spaced the entire way through (the paragraphs are indented).
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Post by Captain Galaxy on Jan 25, 2006 9:21:14 GMT -8
Post it in segments
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Post by jroseemi on Jan 25, 2006 11:53:18 GMT -8
It'll still be so damn long, though.
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Post by Captain Galaxy on Jan 25, 2006 16:13:42 GMT -8
FINE!
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Post by The Dankness on Feb 1, 2006 23:30:56 GMT -8
Here's a poem I wrote for my poetry class...
The Funk-n-Stuff Fish
Now I went fishing myself last week
On the southwest end of Turtle-Rock creek
An amazing thing did happen that day
I believe it was the forty-first of May
There wasn’t much bitin’, and I was just nappin’
When this marvelous thing did happen
A tug on the line woke me up from my sleep
‘Twas a fish from the darkest depths of the deep
I yanked and I tugged, reeling in the fish-line
In hopes that this fish would soon be mine
I probably would’ve just set the fish free
If I’d known of the chaos awaiting me
For this thing that I pulled from the creek with a swish
Was the legendary, funky-haired funk-n-stuff fish
Now this funk-n-stuff fish, I must declare
Is the only known fish with a head of hair
But this wasn’t a toupee or hairpiece, oh no
This was an authentic, gigantic afro
Things really got odd with this fish in my hand
When this funky-fish ‘fro began to expand
See, when taken from moisture this nappy hair was
It began to grow into a great ball of fuzz
It grew ‘till the fish was now hidden from sight
And the size it obtained was a terrible fright
I dropped it before it could grow over me
And it grew to the size of a large S.U.V.
This trip had now pretty much outlived its fun
So I grabbed all my stuff and I started to run
I ran faster than ever, that day when I fleed
And the hair-growing started to increase its speed
So here I was, trying to run without fail
With a man-eating afro hot on my trail
I ran and I ran ‘till my kidneys shut down
But by then the fish-afro had swallowed the town
The town I was born in, I even worked there
It had now been replaced with a big ball of hair
I shed one single tear when to my knees I sunk
To sacrifice myself to this maelstrom of funk
As the fishy hairdo upon me was descending
I awoke to an anticlimactic poem ending
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Post by Captain Galaxy on Feb 2, 2006 10:02:26 GMT -8
Did I see that before? If so, did you extend it?
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