Bistro Bijou

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Okay, as soon as I get frustrated with the negativity, I get feedback like this:

"What a great story!! I sure wish I'd had a sister like that when I was his age!! Please write more!"


That was not feedback for my new story, but for "His Sister's Dance" which you might have guessed is an incest story.
 
I don't get random pervy PM's.

You want one?

hahahaha!

I want one.

Lady S, one thing I experienced early on was that the first story I put up got really high scores and actually made it into the top 500 for a short while. I was new here, taking it very seriously, and so I was really excited. Then, all of a sudden, it disappeared with a whole bunch of low scores. That's when I learned that there are people who are extremely competitive here, and they do that stuff to make sure they stay on top. Once I got over being sad, I figured out that it's just a game and one needn't take scores too seriously.

meh. I don't publish here because I want to win anything or get a particular score. The number really doesn't matter, and you'll always have trolls who spend time saying nasty things for no reason.

And SafeBet, welcome to the Bistro. But I must ask, because I'm just the sort of person who has to ask these things: why the boldface type? Are you afraid we can't hear you? Or is it a stylistic choice?

Anyway, what'll ya have? I'm behind the bar all afternoon today.

bj

The less attached you are the better, frankly.
 
Soll ich entschärfung seine computer vernichtet?

Nein, nein, Nein, sie genießt die Schweinerei! (Schmutz?) (Sauereien?)

Meine Deutsch ist nicht so gut--Ich studierte Deutsch in die Schule vor 40 Jahren. Ich bin Amerikaner, und Ich spreche nur ein bisschen Deutsch.
 
Nein, nein, Nein, sie genießt die Schweinerei! (Schmutz?) (Sauereien?)

Meine Deutsch ist nicht so gut--Ich studierte Deutsch in die Schule vor 40 Jahren. Ich bin Amerikaner, und Ich spreche nur ein bisschen Deutsch.

I bet you could read Rilke in a way that would make me hot.

It's happened before.

bj
 
hahahaha!

And SafeBet, welcome to the Bistro. But I must ask, because I'm just the sort of person who has to ask these things: why the boldface type? Are you afraid we can't hear you? Or is it a stylistic choice?

Okay, I'll spill my guts. The ugly little secret is that I can't see diddly without my glasses and I'm too damn lazy to wear them most of the time. When I read other people's posts I crank up the magnification, but I pretty much squint the rest of the time. The bold type lets me know which are my own posts so I can skip them.

P.S. My partner says I'm a 'vain, dumb-ass'. I don't disagree with her. I'll go get my damn glasses! :catgrin:

P.P.S. Uddi born and raised! Whoo Hoo!
 
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Okay, I'll spill my guts. The ugly little secret is that I can't see diddly without my glasses and I'm too damn lazy to wear them most of the time. When I read other people's posts I crank up the magnification, but I pretty much squint the rest of the time. The bold type lets me know which are my own posts so I can skip them.

P.S. My partner says I'm a 'vain, dumb-ass'. I don't disagree with her. I'll go get my damn glasses! :catgrin:

P.P.S. Unddi born and raised! Whoo Hoo!

That is a completely adorable reason.

Soon enough, you'll be able to put up an avatar, and you can use something really bold so you can identify it quickly.

YOu see, you've proven it again. Here's the thing I was on about at the bar last night.

I don't really want to like people. Honestly, I'm pretty much a misanthrope. I'd like to be able to just avoid, categorize and judge them.

But every time I start talking to an actual person, I find something to love, something to feel compassionate about, something unique and adorable and fascinating. Dammit.

What's a misanthrope supposed to do, surrounded by obviously wonderful and redeemable examples of humanity all the time?

feh

bj
 
Tonight is the 1st pre-season game for my team- Atlanta Falcons. I'm a diehard Falcons fan. It all started because I went to college in Cleveland, TN which is about 30 minutes north of Atlanta. Cleveland, TN is the site of the headquarters for the church I grew up in- Church of God. With such a strong church presence, Cleveland is closed on Sunday. There is barely anything to do there in the first place and much less to do on Sundays. My best friend at the time was dating a local. We used to hang out at his place and watch the football games on Sunday afternoons. It just stuck with me.

I hate the way the off-season months drag as I await the start of the next season. But, here it is again! Yea!

-Sheila
 
I bet you could read Rilke in a way that would make me hot.

It's happened before.

bj


Und fast ein Mädchen wars und ging hervor
aus diesem einigen Glück von Sang und Leier
und glänzte klar durch ihre Frühlingsschleier
und machte sich ein Bett in meinem Ohr.
Und schlief in mir. Und alles war ihr Schlaf.
Die Bäume, die ich je bewundert, diese
fühlbare Ferne, die gefühlte Wiese
und jedes Staunen, da mich selbst betraf.

Sie schlief die Welt. Singender Gott, wie hast
du sie vollendet, daß sie nicht begehrte,
erst wach zu sein? Sieh, sie erstand und schlief.

Wo ist ihr Tod? O, wirst du dies Motiv
erfinden noch, eh sich dein Lied verzehrte? -
Wo sinkt sie hin aus mir? ... Ein Mädchen fast ...


She was a maid almost, emerging here
from this united joy of song and lyre
and shone clear through her vernal veils like fire
and made herself a bed inside my ear.
And slept in me. And all was in her sleep.
The trees, which I always admired, such
palpable distance, the meadow felt so much
and every wonder, that affected me.

She slept the world. Oh singing god, how did
you so complete her, that she did not care
to wake up first? Look, she stood and dreamed.

Where is her death? Will you invent this theme
before your song consumes itself? To where
sinks she away from me? ... Almost a maid ...
 
Ein Gott vermags. Wie aber, sag mir, soll
ein Mann ihm folgen durch die schmale Leier?
Sein Sinn ist Zwiespalt. An der Kreuzung zweier
Herzwege steht kein Tempel für Apoll.
Gesang, wie du ihn lehrst, ist nicht Begehr,
nicht Werbung um ein endlich noch Erreichtes;
Gesang ist Dasein. Für den Gott ein Leichtes.
Wann aber sind wir? Und wann wendet er

an unser Sein die Erde und die Sterne?
Dies ist nicht, Jüngling, daß du liebst, wenn auch
die Stimme dann den Mund dir aufstößt, - lerne

vergessen, daß du aufsangst. Das verrinnt.
In Wahrheit singen, ist ein andrer Hauch.
Ein Hauch um nichts. Ein Wehn im Gott. Ein Wind.



A god can do it. How do you expect
a man to squeeze on through the lyre and follow?
His mind is torn. Where heartways intersect,
you won't find any temple to Apollo.
True singing, as you teach it, isn't wanting,
not wooing anything that can be won;
no, Singing's Being. For the god, not daunting.
But when are we? And when will he then turn

into our being all the Earth and Stars?
It isn't that you love, child, even if
the voice exploded from your mouth - begin

forgetting, that you sang. That disappears.
To sing in truth is quite a different breath.
A breath of void. A gust in the god...A wind.
 
Well...maybe just one more...

Tänzerin: o du Verlegung
alles Vergehens in Gang: wie brachtest du's dar.
Und der Wirbel am Schluß, dieser Baum aus Bewegung,
nahm er nicht ganz Besitz das erschwungene Jahr?
Blühte nicht, daß ihn dein Schwingen von vorhin um schwärme,
plötzlich sein Wipfel von Stille? Und über ihr,
war sie nicht Sonne, war sie nicht Sommer, die Wärme,
diese unzählige Wärme aus dir?

Aber er trug auch, er trug, dein Baum der Ekstase.
Sind sie nicht seine ruhigen Früchte: der Krug,
reifend gestreift, und die gereiftere Vase?

Und in den Bildern: ist nicht die Zeichnung geblieben,
die deine Braue dunkler Zug
rasch an die Wandung der eigenen Wendung geschrieben?



Dancer: oh you transition
of all that's transient into action: you did it here!
And the whirl at the end, that tree made of motion,
did it not take control of the whole sweeping year?
Didn't the treetop around which your soaring swarmed
suddenly blossom with stillness? Above it, too,
wasn't it sun, wasn't it summer, the warmth,
this unlimited warmth from you?

But it bore too, it bore, your tree of ecstasis.
Aren't these your peaceful fruits: the vases
striped with ripening, and the riper urn?

And in the photos: isn't there the mark
remaining, that your eyebrow's stroke so dark
wrote quickly on the wall of its own turn?
 
We did the Rocky Mountain tour a few years back, Ron had always wanted to go so I said what the heck lets blow your pension and go. The only trouble was most of the other people on the tour were German and one the ladies took it upon herself to teach me to speak German mostly alas swear words. But I can now swear in German, French, Irish (Celt) and Arabic as well as good old fashioned Anglo Saxon
 
Well...maybe just one more...

*panting*

when can I expect the audio files for those?


We did the Rocky Mountain tour a few years back, Ron had always wanted to go so I said what the heck lets blow your pension and go. The only trouble was most of the other people on the tour were German and one the ladies took it upon herself to teach me to speak German mostly alas swear words. But I can now swear in German, French, Irish (Celt) and Arabic as well as good old fashioned Anglo Saxon

Teach me some good Irish swear words. I have a good friend I'd like to use them on.

bj
 
Fair Warning...

Ya know... we haven't done any challenges based on the sonnet since I've been active in this forum... unless I missed it. (which is a possibility)

:rose:
 
Pssst, Snood!

Don't get Angie started on that sonnet thing. Don't.

Trust Me On This. :)

Looks like he's gone already. But hopefully he's been warned.

Sadly, given his tendency to try all those weird new forms, I'm thinkin' he'll be all over the sonnet. Ange may win this one... Personally I'm still traumatized by the villanelle thing.

I'm off myself (hey, now, no comments from the gallery) pretty soon, til tomorrow. I need to get the hell out of the shop, if only for a few hours. I'm just hanging around for another minute or two to see if there are any more pervy PM's coming in for me.

They do inspire me so...

bj
 
Pssst, Snood!

Don't get Angie started on that sonnet thing. Don't.

Trust Me On This. :)

As my father (and I think Buffalo Bob) used to say, "quiet in the peanut gallery." :rose:

Bij, and Snoodster wherever you be, sonnets are easy. They really are. Villanelles are evil, but sonnets are a walk in the park. All you have to do is get the rhythm in your head like a song and put in new words.

Sorry, T-man. It's too late. :)
 
As my father (and I think Buffalo Bob) used to say, "quiet in the peanut gallery." :rose:

Bij, and Snoodster wherever you be, sonnets are easy. They really are. Villanelles are evil, but sonnets are a walk in the park. All you have to do is get the rhythm in your head like a song and put in new words.

Sorry, T-man. It's too late. :)

Rhythm, yeah. I can do rhythm all day. Pick one. Hexameter, iambic pentameter, alexandrian, dactylic quatrameter, pandemic catheter, whatever.

It's the rhyme I have issue with.

Unrhymed sonnet? Piece a' cake. It might even be reasonably good. But once I start working with rhyme, I'm mostly going to be coming up with " 'What rhymes with 'fuck this crazy shit, I'm going back to free verse'?"

bj
 
*panting*

when can I expect the audio files for those?




Teach me some good Irish swear words. I have a good friend I'd like to use them on.

bj

Deutsch oder Amerikanisch?

I recently discovered that my good mic is broken. I will replace it and record for you VERY soon (I still have a story, too, which I like a lot, and actually want to get posted--full of music, words (my words), and voices--mostly mine).

Soon, my impatient lover, soon.
 
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Rhythm, yeah. I can do rhythm all day. Pick one. Hexameter, iambic pentameter, alexandrian, dactylic quatrameter, pandemic catheter, whatever.

It's the rhyme I have issue with.

Unrhymed sonnet? Piece a' cake. It might even be reasonably good. But once I start working with rhyme, I'm mostly going to be coming up with " 'What rhymes with 'fuck this crazy shit, I'm going back to free verse'?"

bj

This is nothing more than a mind block. A smart girl like you can write sonnets with her rhyming dictionary tied behind her back. It's simply mental and you know it. Now you have no excuse. :D
 
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