writing advice from my Angry Poets group

All piffle & twaddle – influence of Bottom Dog man. For real “decadents” read Huysmans & other French authors. Diarrhea of words – stew of classic allusions. Fuck Artemis et alia! Don’t put intellect in your prick! Write honestly even if poorly. Humor is weak – immature. Try drugs and compare two kinds of writing. Try using only Anglo-Saxon words. Throw your dictionary away! Don’t mix realism with poetics! If you can’t make words fuck, don’t masturbate them! When you speak of Cunt put hair on it! Try to forget everything you learned in college. Try talking like an ignoramus – or an Igaroti. Read, for emetic, “Palm Wind Drinkard.” You will learn to write only when you stop trying to write. A line without effort is worth a chapter of push and pull. First ask yourself if you have anything to say. Don’t draw the pen unless you are ready for the kill! If you don’t get rid of the Classics you’ll die of constipation. Never show any one what you’ve written until a year or two later. Use the axe to your 1st draft and not the fine comb. The latter is for lice!!!

now I understand poor Helena (from a Midsummer Night's Dream)

DEMETRIUS I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. Where is Lysander and fair Hermia? The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me. Thou told'st me they were stolen unto this wood; And here am I, Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. HELENA You draw me, you hard hearted adamant! DEMETRIUS Do I entice you? do I speak you fair? Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth Tell you, I do not, nor I cannot love you? HELENA And even for that do I love you the more. I am your dog; spurn me, strike me, Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave, Unworthy as I am, to follow you. DEMETRIUS Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit; For I am sick when I do look on thee. HELENA And I am sick when I look not on you. DEMETRIUS I'll run from thee and hide me in the brakes, And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. HELENA The wildest hath not such a heart as you. DEMETRIUS I will not stay thy questions; let me go: Or, if thou follow me, do not believe But I shall do thee mischief in the wood. HELENA You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius! We cannot fight for love, as men may do; We should be wooed and were not made to woo. Exit DEMETRIUS I'll follow thee and make a heaven of hell, To die upon the hand I love so well. Exit

I need a title!

this has been a work in progress for a while now...I have given it a tentative title "Journey" waddya think? I'm open to suggestions. by Christine E. Schultz As nightmare morphed into reality an anguished spirit seized power over me. Reason fled, escaping my insanity. My soul was imprisoned, as if inside a statue, But my eyes could still see. Fumbling about on broken feet. Pain’s signal journeyed through my body. With every pulsing beat, like someone stabbing me repeatedly with a cold, steel blade ripping through me. Barely attached, my soul drifted above me as if by string. Watching the dead woman walking Mechanically… The blind woman’s eyes Trying not to see, what she could see. Ahead the road stretched to infinity. Behind I could see it winding jaggedly, Glimpsing cliffs and trenches of my journey, Strewn with millions of pieces of me. The world still functioned, peculiarly, blindly uncaring about what was happening. Fatigued legs were no longer able to carry me. With nothing left, I reached above with arms weary. I started to climb the ladder That wouldn’t end. Rung by rung I reached with limbs that wouldn’t bend. The task too daunting, I let go, falling and falling and falling. I welcomed death on impact, But the ground below was opening. I tried to stop but couldn’t act, And the descent continued unrelentingly. I fought furiously my unseen enemy, But gravity wouldn’t loosen its grip on me. Violently squirming and writhing and turning. Furiously fighting the air to be free, Free from this burning futility, This agony of exertion, Of too much space surrounding me. Closing my eyes I folded myself inside. Struggling no more, I could faintly hear The opening of some distant door. I became weightless, as light as a feather but one matted and torn; A veteran from many a violent storm. With senses returning, I slowed to a float. With gradual clarity Came a musical note. The "Fur Elise" danced through the air. Taken immediately, I became increasingly aware. The wilted, thirsty flower that had become me Began drinking it in, greedily. As I pulled my soul back into me, vibrant colors painted my world vividly. a vision of clarity burst inside me A voice whispered tenderly, "Give me your life child; don't you see?" "Come in from outside child leave your decisions to me." Calmness rushed from head to toe; was this all I had needed to know? This misery, this broken soul, like a treasure hunter finding gold. Like a jealous lover, an overprotective mother I grabbed on, not wanting to let go. An aching, bleeding, wounded heart once thought doomed forevermore had discovered that ancient secret all of civilization had been searching for.