#experimental prose

[musingsofmyown]

A Glass Heart (Original Writing)

A person gave me a glass heart. 

I held it close to me. I held it so it wouldn’t fall.

The heart was small, it could fit in my hand. The heart was clear and perfect. The heart was warm and seemed to glow. 

The person says that this is my heart, all for me. The person says I need to protect my heart. The person says it can break. The person tells me to take care of this heart. The person says it’s the last heart I will ever get.

I knew my heart was special. I knew my heart was kind. I knew my heart was the only one like it and the person gave it to me and me alone. I knew my heart was precious and good. I knew my heart belonged to me.

I kept my heart safe as I was swaddled in hospital blankets. I kept my heart safe as I took my first steps. I kept my heart safe as I went to my first day at school. I kept my heart safe as first grade blew by. I kept my heart safe as my friends came and went. I kept my heart safe as I won and lost games. 

My heart was chipped when my fish died. My heart was chipped as my best friend moved away. My heart was chipped when I failed my first test. My heart was chipped the first time I got yelled at. My heart was chipped as my parents divorced. My heart was chipped when I had to choose where to live. My heart was chipped when my mom missed my first game.

I felt a crack one day. I felt a crack one day after school. I felt a crack one day after school when my mother stood at the office. I felt a crack one day after school when my mother stood at the office and not my father. I felt a crack one day after school when my mother stood at the office and not my father, she held his favourite baseball cap. I felt a crack one day after school when my mother stood at the office and not my father, she held his favourite baseball cap with tears in her eyes. I felt a crack one day after school when my mother stood at the office and not my father, she held his favourite baseball cap with tears in her eyes with painful words on her lips.

My heart was broken as my partner broke up with me. My heart was broken as I failed my first class. My heart was broken as my mother grew bitter. My heart was broken as I gave up trying. My heart was broken as I read the rejection letter. My heart was broken as I walked down that empty street. My heart was broken as I never stopped. My heart was broken as I stood at his grave.

My heart shattered one day.

My heart was a shard of glass.

I was alone.

One day a person came along. This person’s heart was just like mine.

The person was kind, and broken, and sweet. 

My heart had hope again.

My heart is shattered. My heart is small. My heart is barely there. My heart is hopeful. My heart believes.

#creative writing #trauma tw #A Glass heart #working on syntax/prose #experimental prose #original writing #aspen writes

[trainrats]

#midwest emo #emo poetry #queer poetry #feminist poetry #experimental poetry #experimental prose #autotheory #depression poetry #mental health #grief #diy emo #confessional poetry

[geoxxxwyex]

Proportion Surviving

Renee Gladman

from Juice (2001)

never gets old

#Renee gladman #Juice #Proportion Surviving #Experimental Prose

[lawrencedagstine]

Moonday Mag: Untouchable - Spring 2024, Issue No. #02

I have a short story appearing in the fairly new magazine, Moonday Mag. I’m in Issue No. #2, Spring 2024. It is available on Magcloud as a beautifully put together print format or read it free digitally. Edited by Caridad Cole, Moonday Mag could best be described as a magazine of experimental fiction: experimental forms and prose, speculative fiction, some magic realism and literary too. There’s…

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#Art and Fiction #Art Magazines #Artsy Journals #Artsy Magazines #Artsy Publications #Beautiful Magazines #Caridad Cole #Collages #Dagstine #Dagstine Stories #Experimental Fiction #Experimental Prose #Juxtapoz #Juxtapoz Magazine #Lawrence Dagstine 2024 #Lawrence Dagstine Moonday Mag #Lawrence Dagstine Stories #Literary Journals #Magcloud #Magcloud Magazines #Magic Realism #Magic Realism Magazines #Moon Day Mag: Untouchable #Moonday Mag #Moonday Mag Caridad Cole #Moonday Mag Identity Crisis #Moonday Mag Identity Crisis Lawrence Dagstine #Moonday Mag Lawrence Dagstine #Moonday Mag Magcloud #Moonday Magazine

[derangedrhythms]

Gemma Files, from 'Experimental Film'

#gemma files #experimental film #prose #celestial

[fuckingwhateverdude]

written by a bad daughter, fall 2022

#a mother as a dog with its jaws locked into a steak (you are the steak) #my writing #my writing tag #mothers and daughters #<- using that tag for all my mothers and daughters series stuff #poetry #poetryblr #prose #poetry on tumblr #spilled ink #vent art #vent writing #experimental writing #mother issues #mommy issues #emotional abuse #emotional neglect #toxic parents #toxic mother

[annabelle--cane]

majoring in english is all fun and games until you're reading your fourth whole novel in five weeks and you start losing your grasp on such concepts as "sentences" and "words"

#is this prose style disjointed and experimental or have I leveled up to dyslexia 2: sleepy edition #marina marvels at life

[leavemeslowly]

She said she was going insane again. I sometimes feel that too. Not enough to take the same step as she did but enough to fall deeply into myself. Get drunk on my own thoughts and drown in them without looking for a way out. I am full of sorrow and bitterness for no good reason. How long before anyone else notices? I am too far gone now. They will see it anyway and spit on me. Full of hatred and misunderstanding. I am blinded by it. Not seeing an escape, if there is any at all. My self is not mine, I am not me. I am a memory.

#experimental #writers on tumblr #my body is a cage #quotes #heartache #except from a book i'll never write #heartbreak #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #sad quotes #writing #prose #poetry #literature #quote #writblr #creative writing #virginia woolf #secrets i whisper to the moon quotes #poem #poet #aesthetic

[egharcourt]

They say there’s no scene that humanizes Jesus more than his prayer at Gethsemane. Matthew, Mark, and Luke all reiterate the same desperate plea: “Take this cup away from me.” Luke goes even further in describing Jesus’ agony, so tangible it manifested as sweat that fell to the ground like drops of blood. It’s almost theatrical, in a way— the composed Christ inconsolable, the faithful Martyr faltering. 

But I know that anguish is not ephemeral. For it festers within you, bursts out from you when you can control it no more, and ends with you. They only see the eruption. We hear about Jesus as a precocious child, questioning his earthly parents, “Did you not know that I must be in my Father's house?” Does knowing his Father mean knowing his demise? Did that comprehension come later? Was he as oblivious as Issac then, asking his father on their journey, “Where is the lamb for the burnt offering?” At what point did he realize that he was the lamb that God had provided? When he learned that fate meant him to die did he realize it entailed such cruelty?

It’s perfectly reasonable if he didn’t. The sacrificial lamb is always adored. Without blemish, without broken bones, without fault. They dote upon you like a prince until they pin you to the chopping block. Your father nurturing you with a knife in one hand, saying, I love you so much that I’ll let you bleed out for God. 

And you’ve internalized it. You’ll cry when you see the altar, but you’ve long ago conceded that you can’t escape doom. So you bargain to make it a little more endurable, to meet the end with a bit more poise and dignity. It’s the final resolute “May your will be done.” It’s Issac struggling in his binds until his strength is spent, taking one last glance up at Abraham to whisper, Make it hurt less.

"Elegy for the Messiah by the Sacrificial Child-Lamb on the Altar", E. G. Harcourt

#writing #my writing #religious imagery #poems #ostensibly about religion but it's actually about parent issues #like how they'll sacrifice your happiness for heaven knows what #but then you can't hate them because...they love you #parent issues #father issues #prose #parenting #experimental #queer poetry #also going for the Gethsemane in Jesus Christ Superstar type vibe #more specifically the 2012 version #if you even care #deconstructing christianity #deconstruction #exvangelical #jcs #religious abuse #my work

[grocerystoretrip]

collapse, now published in the greenhouse issue of pink plastic house

#id in alt-text; id in plain text in reblog by eveesque #poets on tumblr #writers on tumblr #poetry #spilled ink #words #contemporary poetry #spilled prose #twc poetry #poeticstories #writeblr #experimental poetry #alt lit #pink plastic house

[diana-andraste]

...in the morning there is meaning, in the evening there is feeling. In the evening there is feeling.

Gertrude Stein, Tender Buttons

#writing #quotes #poetry #gertrude stein #tender buttons #modernism #prose poetry #experimental writing

[anghraine]

I understand why people often say things along the lines of "academic folk who admire Tolkien do so for his ideas/themes and work with setting and ambition, not for the style or quality of his prose." But also ... lmao, speak for yourself. LOTR would be 1000x poorer without Tolkien's personal prose style as well as the (frequently complex) interplay between the language and style of epic poetry and emphatically novelistic prose.

I think Tolkien is (at least in English) a better prose writer than a poet, but his prose is also very poetic when it's not deliberately anti-poetic. A lot of the language just seems very beautiful and effective to me in a way that doesn't diminish verisimilitude or immersion or the ultimate purpose of the novel, and IMO that's something very few people are good at.

He's not alone in it by any means. But there's a committed, unembarrassed richness to his default style that I just don't encounter that often in English of that kind, and which I think is very impressive. It doesn't always work, but I think it usually does, and both can illuminate character in really intriguing ways (take a look at which characters can shift between these registers and which mostly don't or can't—it's interesting!) and can just linger with you as powerful, effective language.

#i have a friend who does not vibe with tolkien at /all/ but listens patiently to my screeds about the movies #bc of a common interest in adaptation and also nearly 25 years of friendship #and when i was ranting about the importance of faramir's meditations on war and the 'i do not love...' speech #my friend was suddenly like 'whoa that is... a great speech actually' #the simplicity of 'rohan had come at last' or 'and morgoth came' has its own power too—it's not always elaborate like faramir's #i'm not saying it's wildly experimental but lotr is much poorer w/o tolkien's quality of prose and i will fight on this #anghraine babbles #legendarium blogging #legendarium fanwank #jrr tolkien #anghraine rants #ivory tower blogging #ish!

[kissedbyghosts]

Ø₱Ɇ₦ł₦₲ ₮ⱧɆ ɆɎɆ

Her robe falls away in an opalescent swell, collapsing at her feet like a serpent’s skin.

Laced through with eldritch circuitry, her lithe body, niveous and bare, pulses rhythmically with light.

Polychromatic bioluminescence coruscates hypnotically beneath the milky translucence of ivorine flesh, lambent sub-dermal lattices of blushing radiance tracing the interior contours of her being.

Her lucid roseate eyes and glossy pink lips glitter jewel-like, the high cheeks of her delicate visage blush, a pale flower blooming in the brood chamber of the crystalline naos.

She begins to dance, at once lovely and frightening. Graceful and fluid, yet sharp and precise, the air about her whispers secrets with each practiced motion, her slender limbs sighing like swords to her silent song. As exquisite hips sway, shapely legs leap and glide, nimble feet caressing the kaleidoscopic mirror of the quartzite floor. Spine arcing, wild cascades of gossamer hair fall in glowing fiber-optic waves over pallid breasts as she draws unseen signs in the gestural language of a lost world. Spectral and diaphanous, her delicate fingers trace luminous shapes, neon-pink glyphs of molten intent whose fluid forms weave a delicate web of abstract patterns. The cosmos shudders in harmonic resonance, rhythmically entrained with the deep magic of her dance. As worlds align, the veil parts and The Eye is opened. Through it she sees the true shape of all things and goes mad with ecstasy. © JM Tiffany

#experimental writing #creative writing #writers and poets #poetic #prose poem #poems and poetry #writblr #prose poetry #prose #poetry #poem #poemblr #poems #poems and quotes #poems on tumblr #writings #writers on tumblr #poets and writers #original writing #poet #poetblr #poetic prose #poetry blog #poetry on tumblr #poets #poets of tumblr #poets on tumblr #poetsandwriters #story poem #poeticstories

[carniferous]

snippet tag

i was tagged by the lovely @messerflower

i haven't really been writing a whole lot due to finals but here's smth from the weird bartylus stageplay fic:

REGULUS: (in a deadly whisper) Enough. Neither of us want to be here. But I’m not the reason Evan died.

BARTY: (grin slipping off his face, replaced by a look of twisted rage) Oh, and I am?

REGULUS: You were supposed to watch him.

BARTY shoves REGULUS with both hands. REGULUS catches himself on the opposite wall, face grim, only for BARTY to crowd forward. REGULUS raises his wand, but BARTY catches his wrist, causing it to slip from his fingers.

BARTY: Fuck you. Easy for you to fucking say, you weren’t there. You’re never there.

REGULUS tries to pry his arm away to no avail. His face bears no expression. 

BARTY: We can’t all be little princes, locked up in our towers, brewing poison for other people to drink. What would it take for you to dirty your hands for once, Regulus? What would it take?

REGULUS: Let go of me.

i'll tag @pupmotif @showyoumine @residentrookie and anyone else who wants to do it!

#if you have even the slightest knowledge of playwriting. pls do not look at this #this is more like experimental prose than stageplay if we're being completely honest..... #tagged #bartylus

[pianokantzart]

Can I make "oublietteian" into a real word please?

#it's purple prose-ish but what's fanfic for if not a bit of experimentation

[derangedrhythms]

[...] a haunting waiting to happen.

Gemma Files, from 'Experimental Film'

#gemma files #experimental film #prose #fragments #hauntings