Author Topic: Intermittens Presents: XX and other works  (Read 12262 times)

Cuddlefish

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Re: Intermittens Presents: XX and other works
« Reply #15 on: August 10, 2011, 06:32:52 am »
Looking at what you have so far for contributions, this is looking like it's going to turn out pretty good. Let me know if there's anythiing else I can do to help.

Absolutely yes there's anything else; it can be hard for me to find what I waNt so if you can hunt anything down that's high quality, suits the tone if the works use described above and link me to it I'd be in your debt. Or just mail me any suggestions.

eh, I was just going to suggest something by Sepia, but it appears someone has already mentioned it to him. It's nice to see him included, that guy delivers consistantly.

Otherwise, I will keep an eye out.
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Cuddlefish

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Re: Intermittens Presents: XX and other works
« Reply #16 on: August 11, 2011, 06:05:51 am »
Looking at the list, I don't see Roger or LMNO on there. I'm almost positive either one of them has at least one thing they could contribute.

As far as doubling up, there's a handful of people on the list who could submit a second work under an alt name. It would make it seem like there were more people.
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Re: Intermittens Presents: XX and other works
« Reply #17 on: August 11, 2011, 08:32:47 am »
Lmno and Rog are challenges as they're talented writers without a lot that meets the tone I've described ( that I've seen)。Roger especially makes heavy use of metaphor and motif that starts to lose context outside of this forum.

So I'm not as familiar with their work as others may be so again; pm or post me recconendations. I have a poem of Rogers I will ask about but would love some longer works.
If sheep entrails could in any way be related to the weather, i.e. sheep trails only originate where it rains, then you could use it as an accurate model for discerning what the weathers going to be like. Either, sheep shit makes it rain, or raining makes sheep shit. Sheep don't shit "randomly" sheep shit after they eat, it doesn't rain "randomly" it rains after water collects in the atmosphere.

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Re: Intermittens Presents: XX and other works
« Reply #18 on: August 11, 2011, 02:35:03 pm »
I've also forgotten what might have already been used in earlier issues.

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Re: Intermittens Presents: XX and other works
« Reply #19 on: August 11, 2011, 03:03:13 pm »
I've also forgotten what might have already been used in earlier issues.

This is meant to be a collection of high quality stuff, under the IM Brand without being an IM Magazine.

So let me know what you think your best and best suited work is, and that'll be the one.
If sheep entrails could in any way be related to the weather, i.e. sheep trails only originate where it rains, then you could use it as an accurate model for discerning what the weathers going to be like. Either, sheep shit makes it rain, or raining makes sheep shit. Sheep don't shit "randomly" sheep shit after they eat, it doesn't rain "randomly" it rains after water collects in the atmosphere.

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Re: Intermittens Presents: XX and other works
« Reply #20 on: August 11, 2011, 06:11:44 pm »
Out of curiousity (didn't see it in the OP), what exactly is the theme/feel that you're looking for?
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Re: Intermittens Presents: XX and other works
« Reply #21 on: August 11, 2011, 10:51:09 pm »
I know I haven't done much recently, but I do have a backlog of material that might be of use.  Are you looking for any sort of theme in particular?

Not explicitly a theme but mostly I'm after

-Fairly linear narratives (A beginning, middle and end, even if not in that order)

-Clear poetry and prose, rather than stream of conciousness.

-Again, fairly clear and crisp non fiction or personal accounts.

-Discordianesque themes are cool, but I'm avoiding anything explicitly discordian.


Link me up, because I'd love something from you.
If sheep entrails could in any way be related to the weather, i.e. sheep trails only originate where it rains, then you could use it as an accurate model for discerning what the weathers going to be like. Either, sheep shit makes it rain, or raining makes sheep shit. Sheep don't shit "randomly" sheep shit after they eat, it doesn't rain "randomly" it rains after water collects in the atmosphere.

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Re: Intermittens Presents: XX and other works
« Reply #22 on: August 12, 2011, 12:27:47 am »
Edgy/quirky/interesting, just left of mainstream, but still of broad appeal.
If sheep entrails could in any way be related to the weather, i.e. sheep trails only originate where it rains, then you could use it as an accurate model for discerning what the weathers going to be like. Either, sheep shit makes it rain, or raining makes sheep shit. Sheep don't shit "randomly" sheep shit after they eat, it doesn't rain "randomly" it rains after water collects in the atmosphere.

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Re: Intermittens Presents: XX and other works
« Reply #23 on: August 12, 2011, 07:03:11 pm »
Here's something:

The whole damn human race, all of society, those stinking, dirty, human monkeys with their chattering!  Prattling on about insignificant bullshit that wasn't anything more than a noise that they made to keep themselves company.  It was worse than a herd of parrots, because at least those dumb beasts ("other dumb beasts," he corrected himself) didn't understand the meaning behind the sounds.

Then again, maybe the chattering monkeys didn't understand what was being understood, either.  Jack was sure they could probably break down the words into a sort of cheap, illegible dictionary. Maybe they could actually connect the sounds to the base meaning of each step of the sentence.  But could they connect the words together?  Could they form some sort of deeper meaning behind the sounds?  At what point did they perform a kind of self-lobotomy that rewired their brains, bypassing any sort of analysis, and linking what they've heard directly to the vocal cords?

Maybe it was simply a case of self-doubt.  There's a lot of doubt in the world, Jack thought, and that's to be expected.  But for generations, the monkeys deceived themselves.  No, that's not right.  They've always been deceiving themselves.  It was only natural to make first impressions, and jump to conclusions.  Hell, no one would ever get anything done without being able to do that.  But there seemed to be something that happened from that point.  The monkeys just... stopped.  "Good enough" was, well, good enough.  They built a wall up, keeping out anything that might tell them they were wrong the first time around.  That's where the re-wiring starts, he thought.  When they don't want to admit they're wrong.

So it's not self-doubt then.  It's pride.  The inability to admit mistakes.  Maybe that was the original sin.  The Sin of Pride wasn't about taking credit for your actions, or about feeling good when you've done well.  To be fair, it was true that bragging about it kind of sucks, because it's already happened.  You start living in the past; you figure you've got some sort of pass for inaction.  But that's not pride.  That's what some people wanted Pride to be, because, of, well, Pride.  Pride is what keeps you from admitting you're wrong.  So, someone twisted it around.  Someone fell into a deep pit of Pride, and decided that not only weren't they wrong, they couldn't be wrong.  Pride had to be something other than that.  So Pride became admitting you were actually good at something, not that you didn't know what was actually going on.

But without the fear of self-doubt, there'd be no Pride.  But who isn't afraid of being wrong?  If you admit you're wrong about one thing, then maybe no one will ever believe you again.  Then again, why should anyone believe anything they haven't already experienced for themselves?  Is this where faith came from?  Let's say I tell you that just around the corner, a gorilla is waiting to give you a sack full of dead roses and toaster ovens.  Whether you believe me or not depends on how often flora-and-house appliance-wielding primates have skulked around corners.  Experience, yeah?  Both faith and trust come from experience.  So, he'll believe you if you tell him something he already knows.  That's not trust, that's buying into Pride.  That's running head on into your own fear of self doubt.   

Jack's head started to spin with the whiskey and coffee. He tried to get his mind around the whole thing.  If you can't admit you're wrong, if you won't admit you're wrong, then you simply aren't.  You believe anything someone tells you that you agree with, and reject anything different.  Until experience comes along again, and kicks the chair out.  So, what's the answer?  Make everyone experience everything until no one needs to trust anyone anymore? Not enough years in a lifetime.  Trust was just as necessary as jumping to conclusions.

Jack took his cup of coffee-flavored whiskey to the ratty, beat-up couch and propped up his foot.  "Damn lying monkeys," he thought to himself.  When did the lie begin?  It could be said that the lie always existed.  We’ve been lying to ourselves since we began to receive information into our brains.  Because we naturally forget that what we see isn’t all that’s really out there, and we tell ourselves that what we see is Really Real Reality.  Even barring things like hallucinations and optical illusions, we’re not really getting the big picture.  Take gamma rays for example.  Have you ever seen a gamma ray?  No.  You might have seen a machine that supposedly clicks when it gets hit by a gamma ray, but all that’s really telling you is that "something" happened.

Jack closed his eyes, and squeezed hard on his lids.  Behind his eyes, the demon’s face appeared again.  It was happening more often now.  He couldn’t escape it when he was awake, either.  It used to just be part of his par for the course nightmares, but that one face started appearing more often.  It wasn’t that unique a demon, either.  Typical red eyes, pointed ears, big horns, toothy grin.  It wasn’t frightening, it was… annoying.  Like when your 6-year-old cousin tries scaring you, but does it over, and over, and over again.  Jack was pretty sure it was going to get creepy eventually.  The 6-year-old thing can get creepy too, if they keep at it long enough.  The fright moves behind the action, into the motivation: Why does he keep doing that?  What’s the hell is wrong with him?

In the case of the demon, it was more the insistence of Jack’s own head that was bothering him.  Why that image, why so… cliché?  It bothered Jack that his brain was being so trite and unoriginal.  "I mean, even if space aliens were beaming their mind-control lasers into my head, I doubt they’d resort to cheap tricks like that," he muttered to himself.  "I liked it better when it was images of impossible perverted sex acts.  At least then it was somewhat interesting."  He thought back, trying to remember when the dime-store horror image replaced the contorted writhing.  All he could come up with was sometime before That Weekend.  Not a "lost" weekend, as much as a "found" one.  It was one of those handfuls of days that seem to pop out of nowhere.

But that was a lie, as well.  Days don’t just pop up, they happen, over an over again.  And even grouping them into 7-piece sections, setting up expectations for certain days over others, that’s just a lie that’s been engraved into the brain so much that the stupid monkeys have made it into a fact.  They walk though their lie day, looking at lie things, thinking their lie thoughts.  Because when you have deceived yourself with Pride, lying becomes the easiest thing in the world.  But wait—doesn’t the lying come first?  The deeper lie, perhaps.  Somehow, certain people (monkeys) were able to convince other monkeys (people) that what they didn’t experience was true.  Then they convinced them that what they couldn’t experience was true.  Big whoppers, too.  Big enough to blanket the self-doubt, and then Pride comes along and seals the deal.

Jack scratched his head.  It was starting to come together now.  He put down his coffee cup on the floor and stared out the window.  The stupid monkeys.  Their lies.  Their Pride.  Where was he going with this?  The whiskey had gotten to him again, making him slow.  Jack was sure he was getting somewhere, something to do with why he always felt an impending weight on his shoulders, the imposition of some sort of "almost".  That "almost" was trapping him, holding him back, and keeping him in a holding pattern.  He waited. 

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Re: Intermittens Presents: XX and other works
« Reply #24 on: August 12, 2011, 07:08:27 pm »

Placid Dingo

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Re: Intermittens Presents: XX and other works
« Reply #25 on: August 17, 2011, 10:40:59 am »
Here's something:

The whole damn human race, all of society, those stinking, dirty, human monkeys with their chattering!  Prattling on about insignificant bullshit that wasn't anything more than a noise that they made to keep themselves company.  It was worse than a herd of parrots, because at least those dumb beasts ("other dumb beasts," he corrected himself) didn't understand the meaning behind the sounds.

Then again, maybe the chattering monkeys didn't understand what was being understood, either.  Jack was sure they could probably break down the words into a sort of cheap, illegible dictionary. Maybe they could actually connect the sounds to the base meaning of each step of the sentence.  But could they connect the words together?  Could they form some sort of deeper meaning behind the sounds?  At what point did they perform a kind of self-lobotomy that rewired their brains, bypassing any sort of analysis, and linking what they've heard directly to the vocal cords?

Maybe it was simply a case of self-doubt.  There's a lot of doubt in the world, Jack thought, and that's to be expected.  But for generations, the monkeys deceived themselves.  No, that's not right.  They've always been deceiving themselves.  It was only natural to make first impressions, and jump to conclusions.  Hell, no one would ever get anything done without being able to do that.  But there seemed to be something that happened from that point.  The monkeys just... stopped.  "Good enough" was, well, good enough.  They built a wall up, keeping out anything that might tell them they were wrong the first time around.  That's where the re-wiring starts, he thought.  When they don't want to admit they're wrong.

So it's not self-doubt then.  It's pride.  The inability to admit mistakes.  Maybe that was the original sin.  The Sin of Pride wasn't about taking credit for your actions, or about feeling good when you've done well.  To be fair, it was true that bragging about it kind of sucks, because it's already happened.  You start living in the past; you figure you've got some sort of pass for inaction.  But that's not pride.  That's what some people wanted Pride to be, because, of, well, Pride.  Pride is what keeps you from admitting you're wrong.  So, someone twisted it around.  Someone fell into a deep pit of Pride, and decided that not only weren't they wrong, they couldn't be wrong.  Pride had to be something other than that.  So Pride became admitting you were actually good at something, not that you didn't know what was actually going on.

But without the fear of self-doubt, there'd be no Pride.  But who isn't afraid of being wrong?  If you admit you're wrong about one thing, then maybe no one will ever believe you again.  Then again, why should anyone believe anything they haven't already experienced for themselves?  Is this where faith came from?  Let's say I tell you that just around the corner, a gorilla is waiting to give you a sack full of dead roses and toaster ovens.  Whether you believe me or not depends on how often flora-and-house appliance-wielding primates have skulked around corners.  Experience, yeah?  Both faith and trust come from experience.  So, he'll believe you if you tell him something he already knows.  That's not trust, that's buying into Pride.  That's running head on into your own fear of self doubt.   

Jack's head started to spin with the whiskey and coffee. He tried to get his mind around the whole thing.  If you can't admit you're wrong, if you won't admit you're wrong, then you simply aren't.  You believe anything someone tells you that you agree with, and reject anything different.  Until experience comes along again, and kicks the chair out.  So, what's the answer?  Make everyone experience everything until no one needs to trust anyone anymore? Not enough years in a lifetime.  Trust was just as necessary as jumping to conclusions.

Jack took his cup of coffee-flavored whiskey to the ratty, beat-up couch and propped up his foot.  "Damn lying monkeys," he thought to himself.  When did the lie begin?  It could be said that the lie always existed.  We’ve been lying to ourselves since we began to receive information into our brains.  Because we naturally forget that what we see isn’t all that’s really out there, and we tell ourselves that what we see is Really Real Reality.  Even barring things like hallucinations and optical illusions, we’re not really getting the big picture.  Take gamma rays for example.  Have you ever seen a gamma ray?  No.  You might have seen a machine that supposedly clicks when it gets hit by a gamma ray, but all that’s really telling you is that "something" happened.

Jack closed his eyes, and squeezed hard on his lids.  Behind his eyes, the demon’s face appeared again.  It was happening more often now.  He couldn’t escape it when he was awake, either.  It used to just be part of his par for the course nightmares, but that one face started appearing more often.  It wasn’t that unique a demon, either.  Typical red eyes, pointed ears, big horns, toothy grin.  It wasn’t frightening, it was… annoying.  Like when your 6-year-old cousin tries scaring you, but does it over, and over, and over again.  Jack was pretty sure it was going to get creepy eventually.  The 6-year-old thing can get creepy too, if they keep at it long enough.  The fright moves behind the action, into the motivation: Why does he keep doing that?  What’s the hell is wrong with him?

In the case of the demon, it was more the insistence of Jack’s own head that was bothering him.  Why that image, why so… cliché?  It bothered Jack that his brain was being so trite and unoriginal.  "I mean, even if space aliens were beaming their mind-control lasers into my head, I doubt they’d resort to cheap tricks like that," he muttered to himself.  "I liked it better when it was images of impossible perverted sex acts.  At least then it was somewhat interesting."  He thought back, trying to remember when the dime-store horror image replaced the contorted writhing.  All he could come up with was sometime before That Weekend.  Not a "lost" weekend, as much as a "found" one.  It was one of those handfuls of days that seem to pop out of nowhere.

But that was a lie, as well.  Days don’t just pop up, they happen, over an over again.  And even grouping them into 7-piece sections, setting up expectations for certain days over others, that’s just a lie that’s been engraved into the brain so much that the stupid monkeys have made it into a fact.  They walk though their lie day, looking at lie things, thinking their lie thoughts.  Because when you have deceived yourself with Pride, lying becomes the easiest thing in the world.  But wait—doesn’t the lying come first?  The deeper lie, perhaps.  Somehow, certain people (monkeys) were able to convince other monkeys (people) that what they didn’t experience was true.  Then they convinced them that what they couldn’t experience was true.  Big whoppers, too.  Big enough to blanket the self-doubt, and then Pride comes along and seals the deal.

Jack scratched his head.  It was starting to come together now.  He put down his coffee cup on the floor and stared out the window.  The stupid monkeys.  Their lies.  Their Pride.  Where was he going with this?  The whiskey had gotten to him again, making him slow.  Jack was sure he was getting somewhere, something to do with why he always felt an impending weight on his shoulders, the imposition of some sort of "almost".  That "almost" was trapping him, holding him back, and keeping him in a holding pattern.  He waited. 


Yep, using this. Cheers!
If sheep entrails could in any way be related to the weather, i.e. sheep trails only originate where it rains, then you could use it as an accurate model for discerning what the weathers going to be like. Either, sheep shit makes it rain, or raining makes sheep shit. Sheep don't shit "randomly" sheep shit after they eat, it doesn't rain "randomly" it rains after water collects in the atmosphere.

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Re: Intermittens Presents: XX and other works
« Reply #26 on: August 17, 2011, 02:01:22 pm »
Lmno and Rog are challenges as they're talented writers without a lot that meets the tone I've described ( that I've seen)。Roger especially makes heavy use of metaphor and motif that starts to lose context outside of this forum.

Oddly enough, I've reposted stuff elsewhere, and didn't seem to have any problem with people getting it.

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Re: Intermittens Presents: XX and other works
« Reply #27 on: August 17, 2011, 02:04:06 pm »
Lmno and Rog are challenges as they're talented writers without a lot that meets the tone I've described ( that I've seen)。Roger especially makes heavy use of metaphor and motif that starts to lose context outside of this forum.

Oddly enough, I've reposted stuff elsewhere, and didn't seem to have any problem with people getting it.

Possibly I'm just giving too little credit to the readers.

Also, I'm getting angsty waiting for Richter to reply; I really want one of his works in particular. Somebody kick him for me.
If sheep entrails could in any way be related to the weather, i.e. sheep trails only originate where it rains, then you could use it as an accurate model for discerning what the weathers going to be like. Either, sheep shit makes it rain, or raining makes sheep shit. Sheep don't shit "randomly" sheep shit after they eat, it doesn't rain "randomly" it rains after water collects in the atmosphere.

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Re: Intermittens Presents: XX and other works
« Reply #28 on: August 17, 2011, 06:28:38 pm »
Lmno and Rog are challenges as they're talented writers without a lot that meets the tone I've described ( that I've seen)。Roger especially makes heavy use of metaphor and motif that starts to lose context outside of this forum.

Oddly enough, I've reposted stuff elsewhere, and didn't seem to have any problem with people getting it.

Possibly I'm just giving too little credit to the readers.

Also, I'm getting angsty waiting for Richter to reply; I really want one of his works in particular. Somebody kick him for me.

He just got back from a weeks excursion. I'm sure he's resting, and will get back to you when he's recovered.
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Placid Dingo

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Re: Intermittens Presents: XX and other works
« Reply #29 on: September 30, 2011, 05:21:21 pm »
Rough Draft (only viewable via link,)

Pending feedback and some Spags final confirmation of approval for use (emails been sent).

Also I need bios. Changing how we do this; IF anyone would like to churn out about 100 words on themselves or another contributor, please post it ITT. No limit to how many you can do. I'll take on any left over.

Also, I want one or two introductions, generally on the theme of Intermittens/internet/amateur writing/the value of creativity etc. So I can do this, but I'd love to get this from someone else, so I can just focus on a general overview.

INTERMITTENS PRESENTS: THE FAIL WHALE APOCALYPSE AND OTHER STORIES
If sheep entrails could in any way be related to the weather, i.e. sheep trails only originate where it rains, then you could use it as an accurate model for discerning what the weathers going to be like. Either, sheep shit makes it rain, or raining makes sheep shit. Sheep don't shit "randomly" sheep shit after they eat, it doesn't rain "randomly" it rains after water collects in the atmosphere.