We all look mass-produced here, like God got a discount buying the million pack of humans in cool summer neutrals— Ecru Mushroom, Pinot Grigio, Serengeti Sun.
I should buy my dresses wholesale too, the family pack,
so I don't ever run out
(on everyone).
I wear my part like a dress while I sweep
and whistle like Cinderella with her mice.
Strike that, we can't keep rodents;
the HOA slanders vermin. Hissing cockroaches and scorpions are for outlandish people who fail to assimilate. So, we get presentable pets:
Shih Tzu, Chihuahua,
Pekingese, Pomeranian.
I'm one of those people now
whose fantasies actualize choosing a paint swatch
from four different shades of cafe au lait.
I'm becoming one with this stage set
of weatherproof, composite siding.
What would Bukowski say?
Whine, whine, wine.
Pop. Clink.
You're right, Charles, I shouldn't complain
since the drone life is smooth
and there's abundant company
among rows and rows of common blooms,
no less beautiful for being clones.
We're a North Dakota sunflower field,
all smiling up at a humdrum star.
We all look mass-produced here,
like God got a discount buying
the million pack of humans in cool summer neutrals—
Ecru Mushroom, Pinot Grigio, Serengeti Sun.
I should buy my dresses wholesale too, the family pack,
so I don't ever run out
(on everyone).
I wear my part like a dress while I sweep
and whistle like Cinderella with her mice,
but nicely dressed and less maligned.
Strike that, we can't keep rodents;
the HOA is prejudiced against vermin.
So, we get presentable pets:
Shih Tzu, Chihuahua,
Pekingese, Pomeranian.
Emperor scorpions and hissing cockroaches
are for outlandish people who fail to assimilate.
I'm one of those people now
whose fantasies of originality actualize
by choosing a paint swatch
from four different shades of cafe au lait.
I'm becoming one with this stage set
of Baja Beige, weatherproof, composite siding.
What would Bukowski say?
Whine, whine, wine.
You're right, Charles, I shouldn't complain
since the drone life is smooth
and there's abundant company
among rows and rows of common blooms,
no less beautiful for being clones.
We're a North Dakota sunflower field,
all smiling up at a humdrum sun.
We all look mass-produced here,
like God got a discount buying the million pack of humans
in cool summer neutrals— Ecru Mushroom, Pinot Grigio, Serengeti Sun. I should buy my dresses wholesale too,
the family pack, so I don't ever run out (on everyone).
I play a part, becoming one
with this stage set of Baja Beige,
weatherproof, composite siding: ThePorcelain Mater,
The Breast Who Doesn't Sweat.
I wear my part like a dress while I sweep and whistle like Cinderella with her mice, but better dressed and less maligned. Strike that, we can't keep rodents; the HOA is prejudiced against pests. So, we get presentable pets:
Shih Tzu, Chihuahua,
Pekingese, Pomeranian.
Emperor scorpions and hissing cockroaches
are for outlandish people who fail to assimilate.
I planted purple velvet petunias and covered the gaps of exposed earth with cedar, but its spicy red is bold; others chose white pebble or brown loam. Perhaps waxen pansies will appease the bedroom windows across the road, placate the unblinking eyes who eternally mind the sidewalks.
I'm one of those people now whose fantasies of originality actualize by choosing a paint swatch from among four different shades of cafe au lait. What would Bukowski say? Whine, whine, wine.
You're right, Charlie, I shouldn't complain since the drone life is smooth and there's abundant company among rows and rows of common blooms, no less beautiful for being clones. We're a North Dakota sunflower field, all smiling up at a humdrum sun.
We all look mass-produced here, like God got a discount buying the million pack of humans
in cool summer neutrals— Ecru Mushroom, Pinot Grigio, Serengeti Sun. I should buy my dresses wholesale too, the family pack, so I don't ever run out (on everyone).
I wear my part like a dress while I sweep and whistle like Cinderella with her mice, but dressed better and less maligned. Strike that, we can't keep rodents; the HOA is prejudiced against pests. So, we get presentable pets, not hissing cockroaches or emperor scorpions. That's for outlandish people who fail to assimilate.
Our houses coordinate for similarity pleases the eye, but exactness bores. Fantasies of originality actualize as we paint our garage doors a slightly different shade of cafe au lait; together, we're a perfect palate.
I play a part, becoming one with this stage set of Baja Beige, weather-proof, composite siding. My parts are: The Perma-Smile, The Calm Mom, The Breast Who Doesn't Sweat. I've learned my lines and knocked on the doors of my characters' minds, but we can't connect.
What would Bukowski say?
“Whine, whine, wine.”
You're right, Charlie, I shouldn't complain since the drone life is smooth and there's abundant company among rows and rows of common blooms, no less beautiful for being clones. We're a North Dakota sunflower field, all smiling up at a humdrum sun.
I play a part. I wear it like a dress while I sweep and whistle like Cinderella with her mice, but dressed better and less maligned. Strike that, we can't keep rodents; the HOA is prejudiced against pests. So, we get presentable pets, not hissing cockroaches or emperor scorpions. That's for outlandish people who fail to assimilate.
We all look mass-produced here, like God got a discount buying the million pack of humans
in cool summer neutrals— Ecru Mushroom, Pinot Grigio, Serengeti Sun. I should buy my dresses wholesale too, the family pack, so I don't ever run out (on everyone).
Our houses coordinate
for similarity pleases the eye, but exactness bores—the horror! Fantasies of originality actualize as we paint our garage doors a slightly different shade of cafe au lait; together, we're a perfect palate.
I play a part, becoming one with this stage set of Baja Beige, weather-proof, composite siding. My parts are: The Perma-Smile, The Calm Mom, The Breast Who Doesn't Sweat. I've learned my lines and knocked on the doors of my characters' minds, but we can't connect.
What would Bukowski say?
“Whine, whine, wine.”
You're right, Charlie, I shouldn't complain since the drone life is smooth and there's abundant company among rows and rows of common blooms, no less beautiful for being clones. We're a North Dakota sunflower field, all smiling up at a humdrum sun.
A lot of high points in this one. I love the title. I could either take it as the true nature and dark underbelly of the speaker, or a warning not to stick our heads too far out of our manufactured sameness for fear of getting them bit off.
(03-15-2017, 03:33 AM)Lizzie Wrote: I play a part. I wear it like a dress while I sweep--I keep wanting to combine this into one idea. and whistle like Cinderella with her mice, but dressed better and less maligned. Strike that, we can't keep rodents; the HOA is prejudiced against pests. --funny sets a good tone for the speaker's voice So, we get presentable pets, not hissing cockroaches or emperor scorpions. --Like these choices That's for outlandish people--You could have went with numerous modifiers outlandish helps set the tone. who fail to assimilate. --In the US we have always been a borg culture. Remove your distinctions you poor huddled masses who come here.
We all look mass-produced here, --I would consider reversing your first two strophes and opening here. This is my favorite part of the poem. This all has a Pete Seeger Little Boxes feel to it minus the colors. like God got a discount buying the million pack of humans
in cool summer neutrals—--Great line Ecru Mushroom, Pinot Grigio, Serengeti Sun.--Good neutral choices I should buy my dresses wholesale too, --This dresses line would lead well into Cinderella if you switched the strophes around. the family pack, so I don't ever run out --like the break with the next line (on everyone).
Our houses coordinate
for similarity pleases the eye, But exactness bores—the horror!--I don't think I'd break the fourth wall here. I'd just consider hitting home with the observation. Fantasies of originality actualize as we paint our garage doors a slightly different shade of cafe au lait; --Love the idea in the last three lines especially together, we're a perfect palate.
I play a part, becoming one with this stage set of Baja Beige, weather-proof, composite siding. My parts are: The Perma-Smile, The Calm Mom, The Breast Who Doesn't Sweat. I've learned my lines and knocked on the doors of my characters' minds, but we can't connect.--the existential tragedy of it all
What would Bukowski say?
“Whine, whine, wine.”
You're right, Charlie, I shouldn't complain since the drone life is smooth and there's abundant company among rows and rows of common blooms, no less beautiful for being clones. We're a North Dakota sunflower field, all smiling up at a humdrum sun.--These last four lines are nearly a poem in themselves.
It holds together well and I find the voice engaging.
Thanks for the read and the suggestions, Todd. Helpful as always.
I made a couple of slight revisions from your critique, including switching those two stanzas. Good call out.
It's funny that you mention "Little Boxes" because I wanted to reference that song explicitly, but I figured I probably was implicitly, so decided to leave it at that. Gratified to hear that it's coming to mind as you read.
Yes to the borg culture.
Glad to hear that the title is working -- titles are my nemesis.
hey lizzie,
i’m mostly a songwriter, but i feel that and poetry go hand in hand. i'm new to poetry, so consider these remarks coming to you from virgin eyes in a sense. you’ve got a lot here, and i really like the concept of the poem (we’re not so different, but we’re not the same, we all have a role to play?), what I am going to do is just dig into the first verse a little.
We all look mass-produced here, - nice opener, nice setup, you can definitely go many places with this line. maybe take out ‘look’ and leave it as ‘we’re all mass produced here’ - it's more inviting that way.
like God got a discount - i feel like this line doesn’t do the first line justice. i feel like it could use more motion, or more of a stinger. ‘god getting a discount’ works, but i think this could be more effective with more ‘showing’ vs ‘telling.’ when i think of mass-produced, i think of; conveyor belts, vast noisy machines, long-assembly lines, smokey factories. i would suggest you bring this line more ‘to life,’ bringing the reader into your moment/place in time. example might be; ‘god’s conveyor belt of endless newborns packaged all the same, spit out by the billions’ --play with it!
buying the million pack of humans - interesting, i would urge you do be even more daring.
in cool summer neutrals— i love the line, rolls off the tongue nicely, neutrals are referring to colors, right? haha - perhaps end this the verse with this line. it's has this feeling of being suspended, feeling of wonder, light in weight, a good line to stop in my opinion. what follows either needs to be stronger, or nonexistent.
I should buy my dresses wholesale too - seems irrelevant
the family pack, so I don't ever run out - seems irrelevant
(on everyone). - seems irrelevant
*i would work on cutting out some of the fat, use the lines that are most effective, and the lines that are directly connected to the theme and tone. (the first line is great, mass-produced humans, stick with this, don’t stray too much.)
*is the title Camazotz? i wiki’d it; themes of night, death and sacrifice—not sure it fits the essence of the poem, but it could..
Hello John. Welcome to the site, and thanks for taking the time to read and give a critique.
Yes, Camazotz is the title. It's from Madeline L'Engle's classic A Wrinkle in Time. I was hoping that it would be a well known enough reference to work as a title, but perhaps not.
Hello Lizzie, I love this! Fantastic title choice, by the way.
(03-15-2017, 03:33 AM)Lizzie Wrote: We all look mass-produced here, like God got a discount buying the million pack of humans OMG, YES!!! This is an excellent description of suburbia. It could even be it's own little complete poem: "Suburbia: it looks like God got a discount on a million pack of humans." Yes. I can just see him going down the aisle, of some celestial version of Costco, "Giant pack of underwear ... check. Year's supply of kidney beans ... check. Oh look! The million pack of humans are BOGO today!!!" Anyway, all that to say, yes to this line.
in cool summer neutrals— Ecru Mushroom, Pinot Grigio, Serengeti Sun. I should buy my dresses wholesale too, the family pack, so I don't ever run out (on everyone). I love how you did this too. The whole first stanza is a light hearted and then just two little words hidden away in parentheses like a whisper almost bring it to a halt. But then, just like all problems in suburbia, we ignore it an move on.
I wear my part like a dress while I sweep and whistle like Cinderella with her mice, but dressed better and less maligned. Strike that, we can't keep rodents; Nope, no mice allowed. the HOA is prejudiced against pests. So, we get presentable pets, not hissing cockroaches or emperor scorpions. That's for outlandish people who fail to assimilate. Love this nod to all the Disney princesses and their weird sidekicks.
Our houses coordinate for similarity pleases the eye, but exactness bores. Fantasies of originality actualize as we paint our garage doors a slightly different shade of cafe au lait; together, we're a perfect palate.
I play a part, becoming one with this stage set of Baja Beige, weather-proof, composite siding. My parts are: The Perma-Smile, The Calm Mom, The Breast Who Doesn't Sweat. I've learned my lines and knocked on the doors of my characters' minds, but we can't connect.
What would Bukowski say?
“Whine, whine, wine.”
You're right, Charlie, I shouldn't complain since the drone life is smooth and there's abundant company among rows and rows of common blooms, no less beautiful for being clones. We're a North Dakota sunflower field, Yes! all perfect all the same. all smiling up at a humdrum sun.
I play a part. I wear it like a dress while I sweep and whistle like Cinderella with her mice, but dressed better and less maligned. Strike that, we can't keep rodents; the HOA is prejudiced against pests. So, we get presentable pets, not hissing cockroaches or emperor scorpions. That's for outlandish people who fail to assimilate.
We all look mass-produced here, like God got a discount buying the million pack of humans
in cool summer neutrals— Ecru Mushroom, Pinot Grigio, Serengeti Sun. I should buy my dresses wholesale too, the family pack, so I don't ever run out (on everyone).
Our houses coordinate
for similarity pleases the eye, but exactness bores—the horror! Fantasies of originality actualize as we paint our garage doors a slightly different shade of cafe au lait; together, we're a perfect palate.
I play a part, becoming one with this stage set of Baja Beige, weather-proof, composite siding. My parts are: The Perma-Smile, The Calm Mom, The Breast Who Doesn't Sweat. I've learned my lines and knocked on the doors of my characters' minds, but we can't connect.
What would Bukowski say?
“Whine, whine, wine.”
You're right, Charlie, I shouldn't complain since the drone life is smooth and there's abundant company among rows and rows of common blooms, no less beautiful for being clones. We're a North Dakota sunflower field, all smiling up at a humdrum sun.
I'll keep reading it over and see if any potential changes jump out at me. But first go over, I love it.
--Quix
The Soufflé isn’t the soufflé; the soufflé is the recipe. --Clara
Quote: The whole first stanza is a light hearted and then just two little words hidden away in parentheses like a whisper almost bring it to a halt. But then, just like all problems in suburbia, we ignore it an move on.
(03-15-2017, 03:33 AM)Lizzie Wrote: We all look mass-produced here, like God got a discount buying the million pack of humans (yes, a good description here)
in cool summer neutrals— (adds little for me, but I leave it to your discretion) Ecru Mushroom, Pinot Grigio, Serengeti Sun. I should buy my dresses wholesale too, the family pack, so I don't ever run out (on everyone).
I wear my part like a dress while I sweep and whistle like Cinderella with her mice, but dressed better and less maligned. Strike that, we can't keep rodents; the HOA is prejudiced against pests. So, we get presentable pets, not hissing cockroaches or emperor scorpions. (good images altogether, but it feels to be bigger than it needs to be. I'd consider rephrasing and trimming.) That's for outlandish people who fail to assimilate.
Our houses coordinate for similarity pleases the eye, but exactness bores. Fantasies of originality actualize as we paint our garage doors a slightly different shade of cafe au lait; together, we're a perfect palate. (Honestly, this part was a huge let-down. More in comments below)
I play a part, becoming one with this stage set of Baja Beige, (Concrete, visual, and dull) weather-proof, composite siding. My parts are: The Perma-Smile, The Calm Mom, The Breast Who Doesn't Sweat. I've learned my lines and knocked on the doors (This sentence fails for me.) of my characters' minds, but we can't connect.
What would Bukowski say?
“Whine, whine, wine.”
You're right, Charlie, I shouldn't complain since the drone life is smooth and there's abundant company among rows and rows of common blooms, no less beautiful for being clones. (Lots to think about here) We're a North Dakota sunflower field, all smiling up at a humdrum sun. (I can see the image in my head, but its purpose as a closer is lost on me)
I'll be honest here, this was a little bit disappointing for me. For the monotonous theme I feel throughout this piece, there's far too much variation in the structure. S1 and S2 bring in many good images, though I suspect maybe there could be some compression if desired. S3 is where these fall down, in my opinion. I lose the images, the motion, and I'm left with something that feels like an anecdote. But even that fails to make an impact. Boredom, similarity, and coordination. Yet the entire poem seems chaotic - uncoordinated, each line and strophe quite different. I wanted to see regularity. I wanted my voice to feel the monotony, through the meter and the sounds. Then you return to the images, although now a little more dull and boring -- as if accepting the fate of normal life. Your final strophe is well done, but I might conclude on "no less beautiful for being clones." It's a good thinking line, and I think it's a better finale than the sunflower field image.
If you're the smartest person in the room, you're in the wrong room.
"Or, if a poet writes a poem, then immediately commits suicide (as any decent poet should)..." -- Erthona
This is overall a very good poem, however I feel at places it is not as concise as it could be; in a similar vein the tone gets somewhat didactic at points.
(03-15-2017, 03:33 AM)Lizzie Wrote: We all look mass-produced here, like God got a discount buying the million pack of humans
in cool summer neutrals— "buying" "humans" "cool" "neutrals" excellent assonance/slant rhyme. Strong beginning. Ecru Mushroom, Pinot Grigio, Serengeti Sun. Dope. Grigio rhymes with Ecru, Sun with Mushroom. Specificity of this caliber is rare. I should buy my dresses wholesale too, the family pack, so I don't ever run out (on everyone). I don't get the (on everyone). Are you buying dresses for everyone? The "I should...ever run out" lines are fine, but less striking than the opening; they rephrase the wholesale sentiment and serve as an associative launching pad for the beginning of the next stanza. However, I think that I would be able to make the leap to "wear my part like a dress while I sweep" easily even if this stanza ended at "Sun."
I wear my part like a dress while I sweep and whistle like Cinderella with her mice, but dressed better and less maligned. 'better dressed' sounds better than 'dressed better' here Strike that, we can't keep rodents; the HOA is prejudiced against pests. I like that you bring the HOA into this So, we get presentable pets, not hissing cockroaches or emperor scorpions. these examples (unlike the color tones from the previous stanza) sound clunky to me. I also feel like they aren't necessary after saying "the HOA is prejudiced against pests." Maybe instead you could describe the sorts of pets people get? That's for outlandish people who fail to assimilate. These two lines feel forced. I get that the speaker is being hyperbolic in order to mock the cultural tone, but this sounds like something a dalek would say. "Together we're a perfect palate" from the next stanza does a far better job mocking the doublespeak 'corporate positive' attitude.
Our houses coordinate for similarity pleases the eye, but exactness bores. Seems like a roundabout way of saying 'Our homes are color-coordinated' Fantasies of originality actualize as we paint our garage doors a slightly different shade of cafe au lait; together, we're a perfect palate. lol imagining a whole street of people happily painting definitely reminds me of AWiT. I quite like these last four lines.
I play a part, becoming one with this stage set of Baja Beige, weather-proof, composite siding. My parts are: The Perma-Smile, The Calm Mom, The Breast Who Doesn't Sweat. I've learned my lines and knocked on the doors of my characters' minds, but we can't connect. Good stanza. I like the nod to the speaker-as-writer. In a way you've created the world you describe.
What would Bukowski say?
“Whine, whine, wine.”
You're right, Charlie, I shouldn't complain since the drone life is smooth and there's abundant company among rows and rows of common blooms, no less beautiful for being clones. We're a North Dakota sunflower field, all smiling up at a humdrum sun.
The ending veers from the rest of the poem, but I like it. The language is very fluid, both in terms of logic and rhyme. I sense some real pseudo-optimism buried behind all that sarcasm! I also like the sense of communication with history/past writers. An ending like this is preferable to the most elegant paraphrase.
(03-15-2017, 03:33 AM)Lizzie Wrote: We all look mass-produced here,--I thought this strophe would be a stronger opening and I haven't changed my opinion. I think it serves as an establishing shot of the expected norm and then the camera can focus in on the speaker (outlier).
like God got a discount buying the million pack of humans
in cool summer neutrals— Ecru Mushroom, Pinot Grigio, Serengeti Sun. I should buy my dresses wholesale too,
the family pack, so I don't ever run out (on everyone).
I play a part, becoming one--Nice break though there's a bit of irony as this sameness exists only on the surface and that only imperfectly.
with this stage set of Baja Beige,
weather-proof, composite siding:--These rules change but I don't think you need the hyphen for weatherproof. I think one word is the more common convention. I could be off but I don't think I am.
The Porcelain Mater,
The Breast Who Doesn't Sweat.
I wear my part like a dress while I sweep and whistle like Cinderella with her mice, but better dressed and less maligned.--There's nothing particularly wrong with this phrasing but for some reason with her mice makes me stumble a bit transitioning to but better dressed. It could just be me. Strike that, we can't keep rodents; the HOA is prejudiced against pests.--These "p" sounds feel a little overused so close together when I read them out loud. Again could just be how I'm reading it. A fix to break it up might be pests become vermin. So, we get presentable pets:
Shih Tzu, Chihuahua, --I do like the addition of examples (from the approved assumed list)
Pekingese, Pomeranian.
Emperor scorpions and hissing cockroaches
are for outlandish people who fail to assimilate.
I planted purple velvet petunias and covered the gaps of exposed earth with cedar, but its spicy red is bold;--I wouldn't call out the boldness. I would trust the reader. Maybe simply "with spicy red cedar" others chose white pebble or brown loam. Perhaps waxen pansies will appease--I like waxen here. I also like appease. the bedroom windows across the road,--subtle shift option: across the road the bedroom windows (windows is a much better thematic break word than road). placate the unblinking eyes--love placate. You could cut "the" who eternally mind the sidewalks.--Eternally is a bit static. How about relentlessly to imply action.
I'm one of those people now whose fantasies of originality actualize --Perhaps stronger if you cut "of originality" by choosing a paint swatch from among four different shades of cafe au lait. What would Bukowski say? Whine, whine, wine.
You're right, Charlie, I shouldn't complain since the drone life is smooth and there's abundant company among rows and rows of common blooms, no less beautiful for being clones. We're a North Dakota sunflower field, all smiling up at a humdrum sun.
Ok, so new suggestions have been reviewed and assimilated.
I've decided to try cutting it down to my favorite bits since I got some feedback that the piece was becoming rather lengthy. I'm interested to know if there are specific bits that shouldn't have been cut.
I've thought about taking some of the nixed material and fashioning it into another short poem of some kind, either as a Camazotz part two or as a freestanding piece. In the end, I wasn't convinced that the newer additions had the same tone, but I've read it so many times I no longer have any objectivity whatsoever.
Anyway, thoughts of any kind would be greatly appreciated.
We all look mass-produced here,
like God got a discount buying though i like the "million pack" i´m no fan of god bought.. i mean he would rather have produced them by the million.. like some clone factory that someone forgot to turn off. strange, how anything that is there in vast quantities seems to lose worth.
the million pack of humans in cool summer neutrals—
Ecru Mushroom, Pinot Grigio, Serengeti Sun.
I should buy my dresses wholesale too, the family pack,
so I don't ever run out
(on everyone).
I wear my part like a dress while I sweep
and whistle like Cinderella with her mice,
but nicely dressed and less maligned. .. i keep continuing this in my mind to ".. but more aligned.." probably not intended that way, or was it?
Strike that, we can't keep rodents;
the HOA is prejudiced against vermin.
So, we get presentable pets: i like that double point, shocking the decent reader in the next line
hissing cockroaches and emperor scorpions maybe get rid of "hissing".. or replace cockroaches with snakes or something (never heard that cockroaches hiss)
are for outlandish people
who fail to assimilate.
I'm one of those people now
whose fantasies of originality actualize i think you could leave that line out.. the four diff. shades of beige are clear enough about fake individuality
by choosing a paint swatch
from four different shades of cafe au lait.
I'm becoming one with this stage set and you could in my opinion leave out the second "I´m" in this stanza
of Baja Beige, weatherproof, composite siding.
What would Bukowski say?
Whine, whine, wine. nice self-ironic interruption, first i didn´t quite know what to do with it in the poem.. then i thought it led well into the somehow tranquilized last stanza
You're right, Charlie, I shouldn't complain
since the drone life is smooth
and there's abundant company
among rows and rows of common blooms,
no less beautiful for being clones.
We're a North Dakota sunflower field, i do like "field" here, can´t explain easily why (in my head) it opposes the somehow soothing thought of the preceding line and becomes kind of creepy with the last line.
all smiling up at a humdrum sun.
as to your last post in this thread: no returned crit owed : )
A few quick things, and I'll try to get to the revision later tonight--when I have some uninterrupted time. Is your speaker, "Meg" or are you just visiting the world as someone more neutral?
Also, if you stay away from Charlie and go with Charles you can capture Bukowski and Wallace in the same part. They probably both hated Charlie if I'm remembering the source material.
(10-19-2017, 09:00 PM)vagabond Wrote: strange, how anything that is there in vast quantities seems to lose worth. Exactly.
but nicely dressed and less maligned. .. i keep continuing this in my mind to ".. but more aligned.." probably not intended that way, or was it? No, I hadn't thought of that.
tranquilized last stanza That's a good way of putting it.
i do like "field" here, can´t explain easily why (in my head) it opposes the somehow soothing thought of the preceding line and becomes kind of creepy with the last line. Yeah, there's an ominous feeling to the town in L'Engle's novel, and so it's appropriate that this uneasiness comes through. I'm glad it does, in fact.
Thanks for all the comments, and I'll think on the points you raised.
(10-20-2017, 07:22 AM)Todd Wrote: A few quick things, and I'll try to get to the revision later tonight--when I have some uninterrupted time. Is your speaker, "Meg" or are you just visiting the world as someone more neutral?
Also, if you stay away from Charlie and go with Charles you can capture Bukowski and Wallace in the same part. They probably both hated Charlie if I'm remembering the source material.
Ok, I put in Charles like you said. Good call out.
I wasn't trying to provide a very tight representation of the book's characters......although that's an interesting idea. I'd have to go back and read the book again before I started a project like that.
Also, I forgot the dog's names, so I put that back in. I always forget something....
Hi Lizzie.
I enjoyed this, the narrator has a really interesting voice
to which I was happy to listen.
Great opening, and the repetition of wines, dogs
and housing materials works well.
A few small nits:
L3 line break after 'humans'?
Repetition with dresses/dress/dressed (L5,8,10)
L9 repetition of 'like' (I don't think you need it)
L12 'prejudiced against' sounds slightly off to me.
For me there's a bit of a bump with the end of S2 start of S3.
The former ends on 'outlandish people...' whilst the latter
asserts 'I'm one of those people now'
(I thought the narrator got a 'presentable pet'
and so was not one who failed to assimilate)
Are L16-17 strictly necessary?
It reads like there's something to be made from the smallness
of the 'presentable pets'.
L23. Should 'weatherproof' not be 'weatherproofing'? (Genuinely curious)
So, still like this quite a bit. A few areas to look at:
(03-15-2017, 03:33 AM)Lizzie Wrote: Camazotz
We all look mass-produced here,--this is a perfectly good opening line. I did think of an interesting option though to mix it up a bit. This is just an option to consider not a flaw. What if you ending line one with "like God"/ then on L2 you could probably pull up "the million pack" Just a thought given the content that like God would imply a darker opening.
like God got a discount buying
the million pack of humans in cool summer neutrals— --still love this line, especially the second half of it. I like it for the content and the tone of the speaker.
Ecru Mushroom, Pinot Grigio, Serengeti Sun.
I should buy my dresses wholesale too, the family pack,
so I don't ever run out
(on everyone).--often I shy away from parentheticals. I do like this though as it hints at slight desperation and a hidden need to escape.
I wear my part like a dress while I sweep
and whistle like Cinderella with her mice,
but nicely dressed and less maligned. --I don't think you need this line.
Strike that, we can't keep rodents;
the HOA is prejudiced against vermin.
So, we get presentable pets:
Shih Tzu, Chihuahua,
Pekingese, Pomeranian.
Emperor scorpions and hissing cockroaches
are for outlandish people who fail to assimilate.
I'm one of those people now--Nice line after the strophe break--a free verse sort of turn.
whose fantasies of originality actualize --Not sure I like "of originality"
by choosing a paint swatch
from four different shades of cafe au lait.
I'm becoming one with this stage set
of Baja Beige, weatherproof, composite siding.--I think this is one too many colors. Possible cut and simply roll into the siding. The idea is good but I think we get it by now.
What would Bukowski say?
Whine, whine, wine.
You're right, Charles, I shouldn't complain
since the drone life is smooth
and there's abundant company
among rows and rows of common blooms,--nice phrasing
no less beautiful for being clones.--Might want to introduce a strophe break here to make the last two lines pop more.
We're a North Dakota sunflower field,
all smiling up at a humdrum sun.--I think you nail it with the last two lines.
I hope the comments help. This is a fun piece.
Best,
Todd
We all look mass-produced here,
like God got a discount buying the million pack of humans
in cool summer neutrals— Ecru Mushroom, Pinot Grigio, Serengeti Sun. I should buy my dresses wholesale too,
the family pack, so I don't ever run out (on everyone).
I play a part, becoming one
with this stage set of Baja Beige,
weatherproof, composite siding: ThePorcelain Mater,
The Breast Who Doesn't Sweat.
I wear my part like a dress while I sweep and whistle like Cinderella with her mice, but better dressed and less maligned. Strike that, we can't keep rodents; the HOA is prejudiced against pests. So, we get presentable pets:
Shih Tzu, Chihuahua,
Pekingese, Pomeranian.
Emperor scorpions and hissing cockroaches
are for outlandish people who fail to assimilate.
I planted purple velvet petunias and covered the gaps of exposed earth with cedar, but its spicy red is bold; others chose white pebble or brown loam. Perhaps waxen pansies will appease the bedroom windows across the road, placate the unblinking eyes who eternally mind the sidewalks.
I'm one of those people now whose fantasies of originality actualize by choosing a paint swatch from among four different shades of cafe au lait. What would Bukowski say? Whine, whine, wine.
You're right, Charlie, I shouldn't complain since the drone life is smooth and there's abundant company among rows and rows of common blooms, no less beautiful for being clones. We're a North Dakota sunflower field, all smiling up at a humdrum sun.
We all look mass-produced here, like God got a discount buying the million pack of humans
in cool summer neutrals— Ecru Mushroom, Pinot Grigio, Serengeti Sun. I should buy my dresses wholesale too, the family pack, so I don't ever run out (on everyone).
I wear my part like a dress while I sweep and whistle like Cinderella with her mice, but dressed better and less maligned. Strike that, we can't keep rodents; the HOA is prejudiced against pests. So, we get presentable pets, not hissing cockroaches or emperor scorpions. That's for outlandish people who fail to assimilate.
Our houses coordinate for similarity pleases the eye, but exactness bores. Fantasies of originality actualize as we paint our garage doors a slightly different shade of cafe au lait; together, we're a perfect palate.
I play a part, becoming one with this stage set of Baja Beige, weather-proof, composite siding. My parts are: The Perma-Smile, The Calm Mom, The Breast Who Doesn't Sweat. I've learned my lines and knocked on the doors of my characters' minds, but we can't connect.
What would Bukowski say?
“Whine, whine, wine.”
You're right, Charlie, I shouldn't complain since the drone life is smooth and there's abundant company among rows and rows of common blooms, no less beautiful for being clones. We're a North Dakota sunflower field, all smiling up at a humdrum sun.
I play a part. I wear it like a dress while I sweep and whistle like Cinderella with her mice, but dressed better and less maligned. Strike that, we can't keep rodents; the HOA is prejudiced against pests. So, we get presentable pets, not hissing cockroaches or emperor scorpions. That's for outlandish people who fail to assimilate.
We all look mass-produced here, like God got a discount buying the million pack of humans
in cool summer neutrals— Ecru Mushroom, Pinot Grigio, Serengeti Sun. I should buy my dresses wholesale too, the family pack, so I don't ever run out (on everyone).
Our houses coordinate
for similarity pleases the eye, but exactness bores—the horror! Fantasies of originality actualize as we paint our garage doors a slightly different shade of cafe au lait; together, we're a perfect palate.
I play a part, becoming one with this stage set of Baja Beige, weather-proof, composite siding. My parts are: The Perma-Smile, The Calm Mom, The Breast Who Doesn't Sweat. I've learned my lines and knocked on the doors of my characters' minds, but we can't connect.
What would Bukowski say?
“Whine, whine, wine.”
You're right, Charlie, I shouldn't complain since the drone life is smooth and there's abundant company among rows and rows of common blooms, no less beautiful for being clones. We're a North Dakota sunflower field, all smiling up at a humdrum sun.
Yes. I can just see him going down the aisle, of some celestial version of Costco, "Giant pack of underwear ... check. Year's supply of kidney beans ... check. Oh look! The million pack of humans are BOGO today!!!" Anyway, all that to say, yes to this line. 
