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HiddenGecko posted:Double Post. I will do it, but I can't promise reliability. I'm using my phone from a shithole WWII barracks in Fort Polk, Louisiana and I won't always have time or data access. But if you're cool with that I'll still do it.
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# ? Feb 13, 2025 17:18 |
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Ahh poo poo I completely forgot you were off doing military stuff, my bad. I'll see if Fanky Malloons is up to dealing with this slapfight.
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HiddenGecko posted:Ahh poo poo I completely forgot you were off doing military stuff, my bad. I'll see if Fanky Malloons is up to dealing with this slapfight. Motherfucker, I saw your PM before I saw this - I can't believe I was your sloppy second choice, you bastard. ALSO SurreptitiousMuffin posted:Bitches, I'm on a roll this week. Here's a thing: Crit the poem I so generously posted in your new thread, and MAYBE I'll take you up on that ![]()
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Fanky Malloons posted:Motherfucker, I saw your PM before I saw this - I can't believe I was your sloppy second choice, you bastard. Hate the game not the player. ![]()
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Symptomless Coma posted:And I would like to see proper epic poetry. A real narrative. Long, epic simile. Iambic pentameter. By the way, I'm curious: in the event you'd actually stated your intentions like a real man, would you have accepted Dactylic Hexameter adapted to qualitative meter? It's the closest equivalent to Homeric verse. Iambic pentameter is loose by comparison.
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Etherwind posted:By the way, I'm curious: in the event you'd actually stated your intentions like a real man, would you have accepted Dactylic Hexameter adapted to qualitative meter? It's the closest equivalent to Homeric verse. Iambic pentameter is loose by comparison. Like not just "aha give a dude sestina it'll be funny" hard: "Walt Whitman is the only guy I've ever seen pull it off convincingly and even he looked to be having a rough time of it" hard.
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I'm believe I'm familiar with it. English is stress-timed, while I think Ancient Greek was mora timed? I was really just going to stick to conventional stress timing (by which I mean no major loving around with stylistic quirks) and use the following ghetto approximation:pre:The first four feet can either be dactyls or spondees. The fifth foot is frequently a dactyl. The sixth foot is always a spondee. If the second foot is a dactyl, the two short syllables must be part of the same word-unit. If the fourth foot is a dactyl, the two short syllables must also be part of the same word-unit. Commas may appear after the: First syllable in the third foot ("masculine" caesura); Second syllable in the third foot if the third foot is a dactyl ("feminine" caesura); First syllable of the second foot First syllable of the fourth foot (common with preceding);
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HiddenGecko posted:Hate the game not the player. TOO LATE. ![]() ![]() ![]() This is Cape Breton Highlands National Park. It's pretty much one of my favourite places on Earth. I want you to capture its majesty in 750 words or less. Your submission must be prose, and must have some sort of narrative/story arc. The use of Canadian stereotypes or cliches will cause you to lose instantly. You have 24 hours as of RIGHT NOW.
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It's not really a Mora system, it's more to do with syllable weight. The best way I've seen the concept transferred into English is that through and dog both have 1 syllable but through is heavy and dog is light. A single dactyl is composed of three syllables that run heavy -> light -> light. I think.
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Yeah, that matches what I know. The idea was to go stressed -> soft -> soft for dactyls and soft -> soft for spondees. The opening line I was kicking around was: "Sing do I to my muse, low my voice dipped 'gainst her pale darkness" You're probably right in that it's way too ambitious to work on in such a short deadline. Like, in the inconceivable situation that I find out I've lost my Thunderbrawl on the 12th, I would only have a day to do three hundred words of that. In a parallel universe where Symptomless Coma kicked my rear end, I'd have to go with iambic pentameter to stand a chance.
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Etherwind posted:Yeah, that matches what I know. The idea was to go stressed -> soft -> soft for dactyls and soft -> soft for spondees. The opening line I was kicking around was:
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:
'Sup, Muffin? ![]()
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I'll judge the muffin/budgie inspector verse brawl. Prepare for stabbing, and tendrils. Do not gently caress up. Prompt: loss, redemption, milkshakes. Words: max 350 Due: Sat 2400 NZ time (look it up). More generally: We're getting a bunch of brawls up in here, which is awesome, but could be confusing. If anyone wants to be Master of Brawls and keep a list updated itt, then loving DO IT. sebmojo fucked around with this message at 03:17 on Jan 11, 2013 |
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In what format do you want the list?
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This'll probably do for now.![]() Benagain vs. Noah Judge: Hidden Gecko Round 1 - concluded Round 2 - in progress Round 3 - pending Victor: ??? Iroel vs. Hidden Gecko Judge: Fanky Malloons Round 1 - concluded Victor: Hidden Gecko Etherwind vs. Symptomless Coma Judge: Sebmojo Round 1 - concluded Victor: Symptomless Coma Surreptitious Muffin vs. Budgie Inspector Judge: Sebmojo Round 1 - concluded Round 2 - in progress Round 3 - pending Victor: ??? Bad Seafood vs. Toanoradian Judge: "Guess" Round 1 - concluded Victor: Bad Seafood EDIT: Toanoradian stands as one of God's Own Prototypes. Bad Seafood fucked around with this message at 23:09 on Jan 13, 2013 |
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What competing list? We have always been using Bad Seafood's list.pre:The Question Answer Who's the guy with amazing lists? Bad Seafood Who adorns his amazing lists with crazy-good picture edits? Bad Seafood Who deserves Nobel Price, Millenium Awards and a Pulitzer for his lists? Bad Seafood Who could list the unlistable? Bad Seafood Who should be in the Archivist Hall of Fame? Bad Seafood What song is this parodying? Shaft It doesn't really scan though? Yes toanoradian fucked around with this message at 23:10 on Jan 12, 2013 |
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toanoradian posted:Well, poo poo, beaten. Martello, whenever you've got a moment not defending our freedoms, link Toanoradian's post in the second OP under its own heading. I think we can all agree a good Thunderbrawl's neither past nor present, but always.
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Sorry to have held up the judging, I had a job interview (which incidentally couldn't have gone better) Crits. Symptomless Coma posted:The Remainder. (579w) At risk of tendering a copout, I thought this was great. You slam-tackled the prompt, and from beginning to end, remained on target. The Minister socks it straight to us about the impossibility of doing the same for anyone else; at least, we might very well think that. There are a few proofreading issues, obvious ones though and you don't need them spelled out by me. The way Richard's written in is problematic. On my first reading, I didn't actually connect quote:I have an email - just like Richard to make contact at four, after a year. quote:It's 2008 and I'm being introduced to Richard Phillips who will run the campaign The main problem for me is the flashback device. It's jarring. It interrupts the rhythm of the to-the-minute, well, minutes, and I had to read around it a couple times to understand that you weren't jumping forward to 8:08 pm. It'd be simple enough to have the Minister cast his mind back to 2008 in relation to one of the minutes and this would have saved it. The dialogue in that scene is great though. Also, I found the Minister's flippant remarks in the first few paragraphs a little overdone. One of the three just doesn't sit well on top of the other two, I think it's the one about the glycemic index. quote:It's 0202 and I'm debating the difference between sorrow and dismay using Winston's old thesaurus. It's in surprisingly good state. I think he hardly used it. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ quote:Etherwind posted: Again, the prompt is overcome with sneaky tricks; well and good. The interchange at the core of this story works pretty well, it keeps things flowing and resolves neatly at the end, creating plenty of opportunity to flesh out interesting characters. I think you may have tried to cram a little too much in there, though, as some of the elements you chose didn't really have much room to breathe. The narrator ![]() As it stands, the emo thing seems pretty gratuitous and you'd be better off without it. (In every circumstance.) You have some good dialogue going on, but it's marred in parts by clunky sentences, format errors and blocky action. You're rightly conservative with linking words, but at the same time, sometimes they are needed! quote:I was on my feet, my drink bounced off the trash with a feeble throw. quote:"How about I tell it gay, so you see what I mean?" He nodded, sat back. quote:He just shook his head. "Won't work with a straight guy," I repeated. Finally, it's 'callus'. 'Callous' describes behaviour or thoughts and you know what it means. I didn't like this story because I hate comedians, bars and mentorship ![]()
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![]() ![]() Etherwind vs Symptomless Coma Stone of Madness has done a nice job of critting these two so I'll keep it brief. For me it was a straightforward result; one contestant nailed the prompt, wrote clear witty prose about an elegantly indeterminate crisis that their protagonist had to resolve and made me care about how they did it. The other told an involved but unconvincing tale with characters I didn't give a poo poo about. Symptomless Coma wins by KO.
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Bad Seafood posted:Eh, yours is better than mine anyway. More thorough with links and codes and everything. I actually like bad seafood's formatting better. Plus, awesome .gif. This being the dome, you may fight it out.
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![]() ![]() Loss, redemption and milkshakes in 350 words or less. No use crying “the single worst year of my life, I slaved under Genghis Khan or some distant relative in a coalmine outside Ulaanbaatar. In summer we burnt and in winter we froze,” he said, finishing his drink. The straw played typhoon melodies in the foam; all grey-brown bruises and spilt milk. “something in me got froze so bad - the sun melted it before I even saw her hot smile; something so small I never even knew what it was. 400 days and 400 nights I walked the desert trying to fill a hole that wasn't there.” Perhaps years passed before his granite hands made a mountain of matters. He held them up- spread them wide, low then ordered another milkshake and made a tempest of the drinking. I could see the colour rising, the bruises fade. The sky outside was quiet and dour though inside I touched the heart of a storm.
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sebmojo posted:I actually like bad seafood's formatting better. Plus, awesome .gif. The James Bond picture is a .gif? Whoa. That said, I can't brawl this week. Not in a week of verse.
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sebmojo, STONE OF MADNESS, thanks for officiating and mopping up the ink/blood/other fluids. Etherwind posted:inconceivable I think the universe wants you to write your Dactylic Hexameter, and has shaped events accordingly...
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Not in because I'm stuck on base and reliant on Maccas for occasional free WiFi and my room on base doesn't even have a chair what the hell is up with that and no it's not my fault I didn't touch it but seriously there is no real way to use a laptop in a room with no furniture and while I'm complaining about my room there are holes in my mattress, what's that all about? Also my name's in the OP woo I don't really know what that means but that's cool. And I haven't read most of this thread because, and not to look free WiFi in the mouth, but this internet is just terrible and hasn't finished loading page two I don't think. Anyway hopefully will be back in here for realsies for writing some
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toanoradian posted:Not in a week of verse.
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Bad Seafood posted:Doesn't have to be poetry just because this week is. Thunderbrawl operates on its own terms. Make the challenge, seafood. sebmojo fucked around with this message at 10:14 on Jan 11, 2013 |
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I mean I want to focus on this week. Last poem I did was a lukewarm piece of fermented shark and I want to write a better one. Also because free verse is hard. how do you poets do this mine is poo poo supreme special
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Then we'll keep it short.![]() One round. One hundred words. Prose, your prompt, due in 24 hours. And Sebmojo will judge because apparently he does that now.
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Bad Seafood posted:Then we'll keep it short. Noted. Deadline 2400 est, Jan 11, 18 hours from now.
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Fine, I'll do it, just so Bad Seafood can write more (and maybe become better?) and sebmojo's judging fetish is fulfilled, whatever. My prompt is: "rotten food". Have a nice time.
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So tsun-tsun Toan.
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Chairchucker posted:Not in because I'm stuck on base and reliant on Maccas for occasional free WiFi and my room on base doesn't even have a chair what the hell is up with that and no it's not my fault I didn't touch it but seriously there is no real way to use a laptop in a room with no furniture and while I'm complaining about my room there are holes in my mattress, what's that all about? On base? Where and what service or are you talking about something else?
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Oooh hooey. I might even make the minimum amount by the deadline, although I've almost finished the meat of the story. Fluff it up with raw emotion or a brain-watering nonsequitur?
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Symptomless Coma posted:I think the universe wants you to write your Dactylic Hexameter, and has shaped events accordingly... It's the only explanation. Real talk, last night I had a chat with SurreptitiousMuffin, and Dactylic Hexameter is totally not going to happen. I did about five lines of it as a trial run (the prerequisite invocation of the Muse) and the end result plain didn't work, especially since it took forever not to work and I have a whole bunch of stuff to do for tomorrow night. Just so you don't feel cheated, here's what I ended up with: Sing do I to my muse, low my voice dipped 'gainst her pale darkness In offering, soft penitent pleas, susurrus as her sweet breath. Calling her down only now, when my need is greater than my pride Tarnishes all loving words said to her during my youth's days When I more freely wrote, wooing her with syllables half breathed. Come down here that, gentle and kind, you might see me worthy to save. So I'm going to go with your original request for Iambic Pentameter; if you don't like it, Thunderbrawl me. STONE OF MADNESS posted:Finally, it's 'callus'. 'Callous' describes behaviour or thoughts and you know what it means. Ugh, auto-correct. Can't believe I didn't catch that. Thanks for the feedback!
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I love it. As I love your (now sadly defunct) haiku. But you don't need to go with any more than my layman's definition of epic metre. Give it the content, not the form: invoke the muses! List the ships! Unleash the charybdis! &c.
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While you're here, a quick question. You specifically requested really long similes like Homer did, and given an unlimited word count I'd be fine with that, but I'm having to keep it below 1000 words. Will you accept stuff more compressed like: Now Cleon fair removed his helm and laughed, Stentorian as booming voice that once Against the edge of all the earth was raised. Does that work for you? I figure since you beat me fair and square, I should try and make something to satisfy you.
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It ain't a Thunderdome without a stranger from the Outside experiencing a trial by fire. I am that stranger and I accept your challenge. Bloody me, bruise me. I got plenty of fight in me. ![]() FLASH RULE for the person after me: Your poem must be satirical.
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Etherwind posted:While you're here, a quick question. You specifically requested really long similes like Homer did, and given an unlimited word count I'd be fine with that, but I'm having to keep it below 1000 words. Will you accept stuff more compressed like: It absolutely does, sir. Specifically, I want you feeling you have the freedom to use the long simile that many people here will disqualify themselves from. Don't kill your work over it, but one thing I want you specifically trying is a big narrative simile. Take this great Homeric tribute act from Philip Pullman in Northern Lights: No one spoke for several seconds. Then came the voice of the Chaplain. "Ah," he said, like a thirsty man who, having just drunk deeply, puts down the glass to let out the breath he has held while drinking. "And the streams of Dust..." Doesn't that just let you know exactly what he means? I want at least one of those. Ta.
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Your Sledgehammer posted:It ain't a Thunderdome without a stranger from the Outside experiencing a trial by fire. Bad Seafood posted:To you joining after, I want to see something from the perspective of a dying man.
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# ? Feb 13, 2025 17:18 |
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![]() ![]() Loss, redemption and milkshakes in 350 words or less. Regarding the Second Girl in the Second Verse of "Five Years" (332 words) The cathode phantom in the expensive suit choked out an explanation about how a geyser in Siberia was perched atop a newly-discovered subterranean supervolcano soon due to erupt with the force of Krakatoa10 and how the extinction of a type of phytoplankton led to the extinction of a type of krill and the long and the short of it was that Life on Earth had just enough time to earn a Bachelor's degree and apply for an entry-level position somewhere respectable, before sputtering its last. She switched off the telly, wincing at the cold bloom of pain from her ribs and the hollow where hope used to live. Alone in this flat with the horrible wallpaper; alone with the bruises she could easily conceal; alone inside herself for the first time in two months--she drew a bath. She was ready with the iron heft of the pan when he came through the door, bellowing for his tea. He hit the tobacco-shag carpet, his tattooed arm weaving a drunken "en garde" before dozing across the barrel of his belly. She stripped him of oil-stained trousers and poo poo-stained Y-fronts, dragged the battered Philips set over, and Super-Glued his tackle to the teak veneer while the flickering face of a weeping vicar looked on. The girl in the mirror wore a crisp primrose blouse, chestnut hair dancing at her shoulders, face painted peach and lifelike. And when the man on the carpet stirred, she lit the curtains on fire and left him to choose his life or his balls. Down in the market square, desolated flocks of dowdy sparrows waddled in their housecoats and rain bonnets, but she felt like a parade. An end to pain! An end to disappointment! An end to crying in silence while your child dies inside you! Hooray oblivion! She chose a seat in the malt-shop window, oblivious to the haunted looks outside, she was safe behind a particolored row of milkshakes, smiling and waving and looking so fine. budgieinspector fucked around with this message at 02:37 on Jan 12, 2013 |
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