It took some debating to come up with the title of this thread. I have learned a fair bit from ROaTNO and WN, so I endeavor, with this new thread, to weave an embroidered cloth. One with less flaws, although it doesn't hurt to try something new.
Reference to the "Imaginarium" is almost an in-joke. However, I herewith introduce a new idea, one that is most certainly not novel but challenges the concept of the meta-term. This isn't the Imaginarium. This is the Phantasmagorium. No Children Under Eleventeen Admitted. If you are under eleventeen, leave now.
An Introduction
Silent serenades. Troublesome sighs. Solace in surreal ambience. A desired truth. A dose to dote, to dope, the wayward soul. It only works if you believe it would, sir, mister. Galatea? No, I do not know her name. Lindra, I think she is. Yes, sweetish. Ambrose? What's he to do with this? The supple wine of the nectar peach with rose hip tea would do. We drink a sip to drug our health. Our hearth? No, health. Oh, let him in, Letum's solemn twin. What worse could he do than what I have, such sombre song? I shall slip peacefully for once, sound and somnial some. Eos shall do what she does and I shall wake when it is done. So long imagined sun, the bull waits with you between its horns to enter into Lore.
Well... yes. I mean, it's not BAD. It just... your prose didn't seem to have that mystical quality they normally convey. It seemed all right, it just didn't seem like more than it seemed.
they did not stand down and attacked
I found this clause most jarring. The progression of words and the progression of meaning didn't seem to quite match up. "and attacked" particularly threw me a bit.
Hey, that reminds me:
Unless you mean metaphorically, then I wouldn't know exactly.
I've been thinking about this a lot. The short of it is thus: Is a literary device a means to its own end? Is the flow of the words all we're after? Alliteration's great, but what do we Learn?
You have your story, your literary elements, and your meaning. If you write by any one of them, I'll call you a writer. Write by two, I'll call you an artist. Write by three, I'll call you a legend.
...and now I have to update Three and a Half Elves.
I found this clause most jarring. The progression of words and the progression of meaning didn't seem to quite match up. "and attacked" particularly threw me a bit.
Because it's missing the word "instead".
I've been thinking about this a lot. The short of it is thus: Is a literary device a means to its own end? Is the flow of the words all we're after? Alliteration's great, but what do we Learn?
Sometimes I think the real etymology of flippant is actually from flip and pant, because when your parents tell you to behave you respectfully disrespect them by flipping your pants inside out and wear them that way the whole day.
Calico Cats
"Calico cats eat fanciful snacks 'twixt a barrister's banister's bal-usters! Tortoiseshell tots kick magical rocks through a promenade's palisade's pas-quinades! Zoggity-zoo a-zoogity-zag a-zoggity zoogity zoo-gity..."
Bewilderment was an understatement describing the expression that crowded Bullman's face as he woke to the nonsensical lyrics and playful tune. He was further perplexed by the rolling hills of white daisies and rabbits that spread to a perfectly flat horizon. If he were any more befuddled, he feared his face would have been permanently stuck in a contortion between angry and surprised. The Checkered Giant wearing the top hat and monocle did not help his face.
"Where am I?" was the only logical question that the Bullman could ask. And the only logical answer was "America!" the rabbit shouted. "What?" The Checkered Giant wondered if the Bullman was deaf. "A Miracle! You are inside A Miracle! All these daisy and hills. This place is a miracle! That's why it's called A Miracle!" The Bullman had no time to respond before the rabbit continued talking. "How do you like my hat and glass? Made 'em myself. They're very botancork."
Perhaps, he, the Bullman, had always been born with such a face. Perhaps, he had had such a face even before his parents were born. Perhaps, this was just a dream.
"This must be a dream," the Bullman exclaimed, half hoping the revelation would wake him from his slumber. "No, this is very real, at least to you," the rabbit corrected. "Your mind has tripped and you fell here." A dream! "Then who're you?" asked the Bullman. "I am only the Dream Rabbit. I am only you," the rabbit replied. "I am only the Keeper of Kasam."
Good Golly! I am terrible with this thread. Not that I particularly mind. Nothing good has come of my posts since Written Nothings. I don't even know why anyone can tolerate ROaTNO (other than it being "more accessible". 14500 views, 93 v/p vs WN's 20400 views, 91 v/p). This thread is worse than ROaTNO though (106 v/p Yeah, my threads have v/p ratios near 100. A small part of that is because I have linked to them on my profile.). Honestly, I wanted to abandon this for my next writing project "365", because I hardly have time to manage this one.
Mayhem Meets Mischief
"How are you feeling?" Her voice was unfamiliar but reassuring. Without second thought, the Bullman uttered, "Like a failure." "It'll pass," she replied. He believed her not because of the quality of her voice (It was beginning to annoy him.), but because she said it with such confidence, as if she knew it would be so. "You always did stand back up when you were knocked down," she continued.
The Bullman furrowed his brow and tilted his head to look at her. Her brown eyes were almost imperceptible in the black markings on either side of her Holstein face. They were warm, with a hint of mischief. He turned the ends of his lips up slightly.
"I see you have a new nose ring since... you know." All expression disappeared from the Bullman's face. "You don't remember me, do you?" Horror seeped into his eyes but it quickly evaporated when she started laughing out loud. "Your face! hahaha ...Stallion Man... hahaha ...was... haha right.... ha ha I'm sorry. ha I'm so sorry. I couldn't resist." She studied the scowl on his face behind her grin. "Oh, come on, don't be such a smelly pie. It'll pass." And he believed her.
An updated, unfinished image based on the one on the previous page. By posting it here, it will force me to eventually complete the group character image I intend to complete. It also includes an already outlined Stallion Man and the Bullman's favorite tigerkin.
Don't your stories have geography that contradicts the WOM?
Shh... Strop has trouble understanding alternate realities.
I'm not going to go in-depth into it, but who says that the Imaginarium, WOM-universe, and Phantasmagorium exist in the same universe? Surely the Bullman, as a fictional character, can be reinterpreted into different universes and still retain his character history.
but who says that the Imaginarium, WOM-universe, and Phantasmagorium exist in the same universe?
Because AG as a site (as it is sometimes named so in ROaTNO) is a singular location. Although I guess you could say that the Phantasmagorium isn't necessarily bonded to the location of AG itself.
No one seems to remember that I am the only one to call it the Inconsistent Imaginarium. Not that it matters. Of course, there's also the possibility that some of this stuff might not actually "exist" due to there also being an actual actual reality, an actual fictional reality, a fictional actual reality, and a fictional fictional reality, but since Gantic's Rules of Fictional Realities do not apply here, then how is it all put together?
Warble of the Worlds
I wake at dawn, the day behind me. How many passed? The bonds do not exist, but I feel them at the heart of... something. I don't remember but I think it rained. That must be why. It rained. Still, this despondence condenses on my eyes and smothers... nothing. Why? Have I lied to myself? Does it mean... anything? This comfort is honeyed salt. Or salted honey? I thought I left this, everything. Why? Do I come back? The sparrow outside won't shut up. Its shrill warble is clear. The windows are only open a crack. It is saying, "Hi, I'm your neighbor on your roof."
I liked Mayhem Meets Mischief. I like how the focus of the narrative mirrors how one might expect a gradual return to consciousness. The last line in particular strikes a cord, not only because of the vague foreshadowing but because... I don't know, it evokes pathos. It seems like something sad we can all relate to, and I'm a sucker for those sorts of things.
Warble of the Worlds starts strong but loses a little steam. Again, it picks up with the ending. Reminds me of Apercu.
