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Critical Analysis #2
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Zazen
| Critical Analysis #2 |
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Zazen |
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IndigoEve Member
since 2003-01-10
Posts 279Etched in the illusion of time 
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I am looking for some hardcore critique-ing, please. This needs to be turned into a writing class, under the premise of turning "zazen" into your own state of mind (or making it whatever you want it to be). Please specify if you can get any sort of clear intent from it as well. Kindly appreciated  I always wanted to live in the center of a vineyard, in some distant California nightmare. The sticky kinds of juices exuded by grapes, one clearly violet deluge down my fingers. I love their fat swollen bodies, a certain feel of satisfaction at the way my tongue dominates their would-be wine. Verdant leaves listen intently to my troubles, and I cannot fall asleep on a bed of broken ivy. A memory that never was. Then, I could make my own dancing, as provacative and refreshing as my feet could stan. It's so deafening in the silence, each skin ripped open with that volatile fragility. I feel inadequate next to a vision of glass, toes squeezing last fragments from the vitality of insignificance. I suck the treasures from theirs cores cut through bruising souls. I am to the left of ordinary, off-dialect in a region with no written language, and dereliction is saddening to those who exist outside, shaking my stem for one final drop of its cleansing nectar. I forget and close my eyes to intuition, this time. Once reality has been breeched there is no cure for the common zazen. It becomes you. As these children of Dionysus feed me until my dream mind is thoroughly sated and I cannot life my aching head to the world any longer, its concept of enlightenment stills me. This is wine, yes; but it is crafted for the gods. With the words I borrowed meant for praises, less the common thought, the stars and me share wisdom docked in one golden chalice. We decanted certain things which arrived isochronally, two by two. Freedom only comes to the tips of my lotus crossed toes once a shock of gentle debauchary wear the soles from my deception like a Buddist does his humble face. If this is true peace, I remind the distantly swaying palms, no wind will pass through tonight, and the stillness will hang in suspension by the light of alcholic ambience until my meditation is complete. If I were to touch you, would you bleed a velvet river, running miracles through the sodden ground? --Moi |
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b.costen Member
since 2003-11-02
Posts 107ontario, CAN |
Yo, "I suck the treasures from theirs cores cut through bruising souls." is the only one I really didn't like, it sounds overdone somehow. also "cleansing nectar" is kinda cheesy and you have quite a few grammatical/spelling errors, which i corrected for you, here's the real deal: I always wanted to live in the centre of a vineyard, in some distant Californian nightmare. The sticky kinds of juices exuded by grapes, one clearly violet deluge down my fingers. I love their fat swollen bodies, a certain feel of satisfaction at the way my tongue dominates their would-be wine. Verdant leaves listen intently to my troubles, and I cannot fall asleep on a bed of broken ivy. A memory that never was. Then, I could make my own dancing, as provocative and refreshing as my feet could stand. It's so deafening in the silence, each skin ripped open with that volatile fragility. I feel inadequate next to a vision of glass, toes squeezing last fragments from the vitality of insignificance. I suck the treasures from theirs cores cut through bruising souls. I am to the left of ordinary, off-dialect in a region with no written language, and dereliction is saddening to those who exist outside, shaking my stem for one final drop of its cleansing nectar. I forget and close my eyes to intuition, this time. Once reality has been breeched there is no cure for the common zazen. It becomes you. As these children of Dionysus feed me until my dream mind is thoroughly sated and I cannot life my aching head to the world any longer, its concept of enlightenment stills me. This is wine, yes; but it is crafted for the gods. With the words I borrowed meant for praises, less the common thought, the stars and me share wisdom docked in one golden chalice. We decanted certain things which arrived isochronally, two by two. Freedom only comes to the tips of my lotus crossed toes once a shock of gentle debauchery wears the soles from my deception like a Buddhist does his humble face. If this is true peace, I remind the distantly swaying palms, no wind will pass through tonight, and the stillness will hang in suspension by the light of alcoholic ambience until my meditation is complete. ------------------------- Despite these trivialities, I was quite drawn into the poem, it opens with a catchy first few lines, and your diction holds on until the end. so what's it going to be then, eh? |
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hush Senior Member
since 2001-05-27
Posts 1653Ohio, USA |
It seems like you don't have a whole lot of direction here- very verbose and wandering. The one really strong line was: 'Once reality has been breeched there is no cure for the common zazen.' If I were you, I'd start with this. It gives the reader a sense of what is being talked about, and maybe a strong beginning can guide you in a more definite direction. |
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