Our new Indie Games subforum is now open for business in G&T. Go and check it out, you might land a code for a free game. If you're developing an indie game and want to post about it, follow these directions. If you don't, he'll break your legs! Hahaha! Seriously though.
Our rules have been updated and given their own forum. Go and look at them! They are nice, and there may be new ones that you didn't know about! Hooray for rules! Hooray for The System! Hooray for Conforming!
260 words, short thing
Mustachio Jones
Registered User regular
Registered User regular
Tell, me, denizens of the Block, what say ye?
I think the opening is kind of weak and the ending is a copout.
This is not art. At least, not in the traditional sense. Where is the subject? Where is the meaning? The message is hollow; fake. It is phony. My cohort agrees too, apparently. With a whip, the belt to his bathrobe is no longer biting its own tail. The brisk air of the art museum gnaws at his unmasked being, but his idea, his message, throws him into a berserker rage. His stance is steady and his aim is true. And so he grasps his member, throbbing with inspiration. Like a brush, he makes broad strokes up there on his bastion, standing on a marble bench. He is assassinating the false. The paint flows from the brush at a furious rate. Like a Pollock, the paint splatters and drips on the framed piece of wall. This was not art. The fellow art patrons gasp and yell for security to assist this ruffian out of the gallery. In the wake of the insults, his demeanor remains the same; his face is consumed by a wild grimace. With a sputtering finale, the can runs dry. He holsters the smoking gun and his eyes fall on the whole of his creation. He turns away from his work, amazed at the interest he has drawn. The mouths of the crowd collectively hang agape as he stands triumphantly on his throne, the paint still dripping. "Friends! My dear friends! I have done an art!" I think that was the point when the nightstick took out his knees, but I don't remember. The damage has been done.[/CODE][CODE] This is not art. At least, not in the traditional sense. Where is the subject? Where is the meaning? The message is hollow; fake. It is phony.
My cohort agrees too, apparently. With a whip, the belt to his bathrobe is no longer biting its own tail. The brisk air of the art museum gnaws at his unmasked being, but his idea, his message, throws him into a berserker rage.
His stance is steady and his aim is true. And so he grasps his member, throbbing with inspiration. Like a brush, he makes broad strokes up there on his bastion, standing on a marble bench. He is assassinating the false. The paint flows from the brush at a furious rate. Like a Pollock, the paint splatters and drips on the framed piece of wall. This was not art.
The fellow art patrons gasp and yell for security to assist this ruffian out of the gallery. In the wake of the insults, his demeanor remains the same; his face is consumed by a wild grimace. With a sputtering finale, the can runs dry. He holsters the smoking gun and his eyes fall on the whole of his creation.
He turns away from his work, amazed at the interest he has drawn. The mouths of the crowd collectively hang agape as he stands triumphantly on his throne, the paint still dripping.
"Friends! My dear friends! I have done an art!"
I think that was the point when the nightstick took out his knees, but I don't remember. The damage has been done.[/CODE]
Spoiler:
I think the opening is kind of weak and the ending is a copout.
This is not art. At least, not in the traditional sense. Where is the subject? Where is the meaning? The message is hollow; fake. It is phony. My cohort agrees too, apparently. With a whip, the belt to his bathrobe is no longer biting its own tail. The brisk air of the art museum gnaws at his unmasked being, but his idea, his message, throws him into a berserker rage. His stance is steady and his aim is true. And so he grasps his member, throbbing with inspiration. Like a brush, he makes broad strokes up there on his bastion, standing on a marble bench. He is assassinating the false. The paint flows from the brush at a furious rate. Like a Pollock, the paint splatters and drips on the framed piece of wall. This was not art. The fellow art patrons gasp and yell for security to assist this ruffian out of the gallery. In the wake of the insults, his demeanor remains the same; his face is consumed by a wild grimace. With a sputtering finale, the can runs dry. He holsters the smoking gun and his eyes fall on the whole of his creation. He turns away from his work, amazed at the interest he has drawn. The mouths of the crowd collectively hang agape as he stands triumphantly on his throne, the paint still dripping. "Friends! My dear friends! I have done an art!" I think that was the point when the nightstick took out his knees, but I don't remember. The damage has been done.[/CODE][CODE] This is not art. At least, not in the traditional sense. Where is the subject? Where is the meaning? The message is hollow; fake. It is phony.
My cohort agrees too, apparently. With a whip, the belt to his bathrobe is no longer biting its own tail. The brisk air of the art museum gnaws at his unmasked being, but his idea, his message, throws him into a berserker rage.
His stance is steady and his aim is true. And so he grasps his member, throbbing with inspiration. Like a brush, he makes broad strokes up there on his bastion, standing on a marble bench. He is assassinating the false. The paint flows from the brush at a furious rate. Like a Pollock, the paint splatters and drips on the framed piece of wall. This was not art.
The fellow art patrons gasp and yell for security to assist this ruffian out of the gallery. In the wake of the insults, his demeanor remains the same; his face is consumed by a wild grimace. With a sputtering finale, the can runs dry. He holsters the smoking gun and his eyes fall on the whole of his creation.
He turns away from his work, amazed at the interest he has drawn. The mouths of the crowd collectively hang agape as he stands triumphantly on his throne, the paint still dripping.
"Friends! My dear friends! I have done an art!"
I think that was the point when the nightstick took out his knees, but I don't remember. The damage has been done.[/CODE]
Mustachio Jones on
Posts
other than that, i like it.
I don't like the word "ruffian"; sounds like you're attempting to sound fancy.
Probably should be "The damage had been done."
Also, I want to understand why you said: because bathrobes don't use buckles, they tie, in a knot. So this image doesn't register or make sense when I read it.
I probably should slap some quotes around "assisting the ruffian", because I was getting at the fact that those are the patrons' cries, rather than the narrator's. I'm doing a bit too much assuming here, it looks like. The patrons are snooty, uptight upper citizens; the robed man is pissing all over a framed piece of wall. In an earlier draft I think I had something alluding to the color, but it seems that didn't make into this cut.
I fought with the metaphor with the belt for a bit, it started as "Midgard serpentine" but that's way too easy to stumble over, as well as a bit convoluted.
I'm going to try and double the wordcount tonight. I think that more should clear up some things, as well as the obligatory editing.
I got your use of ruffian as referring to what the patronage would be thinking, and I didn't mind it at all.
I think overall, you're tripping over your metaphors and colorful turns of phrase too much, and they obscure your point. Simplify some of your language, and the metaphors will stand out better, and have more impact. As it is, the piece reads like a Where's Waldo mural, with relevant points hidden amongst fancy verbiage.
Maddie: "I am not!"
Riley: "You're a marsupial!"
Maddie: "I am a placental mammal!"
EDIT: "With a whipping motion" would work, and keep the word, if it's important to you.
2nd EDIT: Who let this guy into an art museum wearing a bathrobe??
Agreed.
Also, I'd be careful with the "pissing on the wall" idea, because I, like others, assumed he was masturbating.
http://thephatbunny.net