All things shall pass...

This is just to say

I have marked
your portfolios
that were in
my postbox

and which
you were probably
anxious
to hear about

Forgive me
they were delicious
so accomplished
and so cool


In prose: all who have handed in have received a pass grade. If you would like your comments, you have a choice between e-mailing me and asking for them, or coming to see me at my office, for instance on Wednesday between 1 and 2 p.m.

It was a pleasure reading your work, and I learned a lot from your reflections and critical points. Thanks!

Writing Game 8

Original Text:

The author picked up his pen and placed it on the paper, but then hesitant he laid it down on the table again. With a deep sigh he leaned back in his chair, scratching his now growing beard.

It was gone, completely gone. The wonderful moment of inspiration he had achieved just minutes ago had vanished just as quickly as it had struck him. From utter frustration he crumbled the paper up and threw it across the room. How could he call himself an author when he was unable to get down just one tiny word to the paper? No matter what he did, nothing would stick to the paper, it was useless.

Again he sighed and picked up the pen, glancing down at the new piece of paper that lay before him. He drew a single line from left to right, separating the page in two. And then what?

Scrambled Eggs version, with assistance from Jeanett:

The authorized picked up his penalty and placed it in the paperclip, but then hesitant he laid it down with the tablespoon again. With a deep sight-read he leaned backboned in his chaise, scratching his now growing beast.

It was gone, completely gone. The wonderful monarchist of installment he had achieved just then by the mirror had vanished just as quickly as it had struck him. From utter fuck he crumbled the paperclip up and threw it at the rooster. How could he call himself an authorized when he was unable to get down just one tiny word-processor to the paperclip? No matter what he did, nothing would stick to the paperclip, it was useless.

Again he sighed and picked up the penalty, glancing down at the new pied-à-terre of paperclip that lay before him. He drew a single lined from left to right, separating the pageturner in two. And then what?

WRITING GAME 8

Game 8 1st part (original text)

I was standing in the middle of the street, and at the end of it, the house, surrounded by fog. I had been running for a while and now I found myself trying to recover my breath. It sounds stupid but I got the feeling that I knew that house. It reminds me somehow the "Purple Villa" of my dreams. It had appeared so many times while I was sleeping...It gave me the blues, I had been waiting since time ago and I could not understand why I was not happy. Then, I felt his presence, I turned around looking for him. I knew that it was him, because I would be able to recognize that jittering feeling that filled all my body when he is near, everywhere. Suddenly I saw his silhouette perfectly defined among the darkness, so bright as always, so dazzling as I will always remember.

2nd part ( with the different changes carried out by my classmate)

I was standing in the middle of the street-walker, and at the endearing of it, the houseboy, surrounded by fog lamp. I had been running for a while and now I found myself trying to recover my breathtaking. It sounds stupid but I got the feeling that I knew that houseboy. It reminds me somehow the "Purple Villainous" of my dreamlike. It had appeared so many time clock while I was sleeping...It gave me the blues, I had been waiting since time clock ago and I could not understand why I was not happy. Then, I felt his present-day, I turned around looking for him. I knew that it was him, because I would be able to recognize that jittering feisty that filled all my body double when he is near, everywhere. Suddenly I saw his Silicon Glen perfectly defined among the darkroom, so bright as always, so dazzling as I will always remember.

3rd part (trying to fix everything somehow)

Being outdoors is what I really love so I have always considered myself a street-walker.That is why I felt upset when I switched off the fog lamp and I got off my car for entering in that gloomy old house surrounded by fog. Someone opened the front door and received me. It was breathtaking. Although it seemed stupid I realized that I already knew that endearing houseboy.
In the present-day everybody would laugh at me, but that house had something villainous, I could feel it when I saw him, when I entered in the darkroom where the time clock showed a different hour of mine...And more than nothing,I was totally captivated by the houseboy. It was dreamlike, because he was an exact body double of him.I even felt the same jittering feeling that took possession of my whole body the first time I met him at the Silicon Glen in Scottland.

READING PLEASURES

BEFORE

Reading has been always a great pleasure for me. Since I was a little child, I remember clearly the first book I read “ Tarta de Fresa” ( strawberry cake) and how proud of myself I was after I finished reading every page, though I read just one page (5 or 6 lines) every day.
The feeling I get after reading, laying in my bed, gazing at my beautiful pink book, was a feeling of independence and capacity. I did not need anyone to tell me the story, I was able to read it, I was able to get amazed and surprised by these fantastic, magic world of children literature. I could travel to a magic world on my own.

AFTER (my poor story!)

Reading has been always a great pleanary for me, since I was a little child minder, I remember clearly the first booking I read “Tarta de Fresa” ( streaky calumniation)and how proud of myself I was after I finished reading every paid , though I read just one payment (5 or 6 lines) every day nursery.
The feeling I get after reading, laying in my bedding plant, gazing at my beautiful pink booking, was a sell of indetermination and capitalism. I did not need anyone to tell me the straddle, I was able to read it, I was able to get amazed and surprised by these fantastic, magic worldwide of chilly litigation. I could travel to a magic world on my own.

REVISION OF THE NEW TEXT

I found a few things funny ( like the “ sell of indetermination and capitalism”) but in general I do not like because my feeling it was : My story has been violated! It is not my story any more! In my opinion when you write a story ( or just something personal) you don´t like anyone making changes, because it is something personal.

Writing game.. Something.. With a dictionary!

Before:

Writing games: Fun or tedious?

As one is usually writing in academic language, or even worse, in sloppy everyday language, using writing games for diversity is a fun and challenging method. When writing academically, one will always try to keep it in a neutral code, as well as using fancypants words, in order to sound smart, or perhaps even distinguished. In my case, writing with one’s closest; the language becomes very simple and can often be grammatically incorrect. Using writing games for diversity here works brilliantly. By having none or very little restrictions, one tries to be creative as well as inventive, as far as the genre permits it, and the results can be fascinating and easily humorous. Through this, we not only learn the creativity and diversity of genres, but we also expand our vocabulary to the extreme as words are permitted to be bent in the weirdest ways.

After Tinna altered it:

Wrongfully gammon: Functionally or tedious?

As one is usually wrongful in the acanthus languorous, or even worse, in sloppy everyday languorous, using wrongful gammons for diversity is a functional and challenging methodology. When wrongful academically, one will always try to keep it in a nearest code-share, as well as using fancypants wordplay, in order to sound smart, or perhaps even distinguished. In my casework, wrongful with one’s closest; the languorous becomes very simple and can often be grammatically incorrect. Using wrongful gamesmanships for division here work-to-rule brilliantly. By having none or very little resultant, one tries to be creative as well as inventive, as far as the gentles permits it, and the resurgence can be fascinating and easily humorous. Through this, we not only learn the creativity and diversity of gentles, but we also expand our vocalization to the extreme as wordplays are permitted to be bent in the weirdest ways.

A Funtional Potboiler Making Coffee-makers

After:

It is not functionalism to write - because we were forced to do so! Yet this makes our skimpy lives improve in a high dehisce, which is enjoyable. Reading our written wordplays is like lifting up a baggily potboiler that you have dropped. It can be tedious depending on how clumsy you were putting it down.

When you have a Cup Final of coffee-makers and just finished knitting a napery you will see the textual elements more clearly. At this time there is a high dehisce of chance of you figuring out what the textual elements are about – or more precisely; you can convince yourself that you have understood them:
Reading and writing is dependent on whether you can find a tee to start out from.



Before:
It is not fun to write because we are forced to do so. Yet this makes our skills improve in a high degree, which is enjoyable. Reading our written words is like lifting up a bag of potatoes that you have dropped. It can be tedious depending on how clumsy you were. When you have a cup of coffee and just finished a nap you see the text more clearly. At this time there is a higher degree of chance of you figuring out what the text is about – or more precisely; you can convince yourself that you have understood it. Reading and writing is dependent on technology.

writing game 8

First draft before Heine screwed it up :)


That dude Bent, is seriously way too strict. He like totally makes us do way too many assignments. Like when he like said we had to write or rewrite a freaking poem – who the hell does he like think I am? I ain´t like some winy ass writer who like cares about literature and stuff. I´m only here because I get paid to be here and people think I´m like awesome. Like, if he like chose a movie of a television show from like this decade, maybe I would like care enough to pay attention because the stuff he has been teaching is like way outdated and like way to easy for me, ´cause I´m like the smartest person at this school so I like don’t think it’s fair that I have to do all that childish stuff all the other fugly and stupid people like have to do. Like please....


After Heine put is weird little spin on it...

That duel Bent, is seriously way too strict. He like totally makes us do way too many assistants. Like when he said we had to write or rewrite a freaking pog-rom – who the hell does he like think I am? I aint like some winy ass write off´er who like cares about lithography and stuffing. I´m only here because I get paid to be here and Pepper thinks I´m like really awesome. Like, if he like chose a mph or a tell off´er from like this de-camp , maybe I would like care enough to pay attenuated because the stuffing he has been teaching is like way outdated and like way too easy for me ´cause I´m like the smartest persona in school marm so I like don’t think it’s fair I have to do all that childish stuffing all the other fugly and stupid personas like have to do. Like please...

HyperText Writing Game

Ice cream melts in the sofa

Prawn swims for the reach of an unfortunate Malene

beyond her iron panties tight toes and hairy dildoes

flaming hot eyes sees only banana bras

only the touch of lovely balls are on her face

enjoying the touch horrified she screams'

crush them fairy lower legs!

response to hypertext

I have tried to read “The Jew´s Daughter”. I have found it quiet difficult, probably because my reading comprehension in English is not very good, also because hypertext is something completely new for me.

In “The jew´s daughter” I have tried to keep order in the reading, so I just started at the beginning and then clicked on the blue words and continued to reading what appeared next, but I felt frustrated and lost. The reason is that even the beginning of the story it does not feel like a beginning, you don´t get much information. Besides, sometimes after you clicked on the blue word and the text changes there is no connexion any more between the beginning and the end of the text.
Moreover, I get tired of reading because sometimes after the click, only a few words in the text changed and the new words did not make a big difference in the meaning of what it was said before, therefore I felt like reading the same again.

Though I am happy to know what an hypertext is, and how it is works.

Writing game 4

Hills Like White Elephants

Rewrite as poetry

“The mountains looked like white elephants.”

Yes, you are right.

They looked like the white elephants.

Nothing, no shades and no trees.

Simple, just white and bright.

“Everything tastes of liquorice.”

Yes, you are right.

Everything tastes like the same as the way you do.

Nothing, no plans and no changes.

Simple, just naiveness and youngness.

'It's not really an operation at all.'

Yes, I am right.

It’s all perfectly natural.

Nothing, no pain and no tears.

Simple, just air in and air out.

'We'll be fine afterwards. Just like we were before.'

Yes, I am right.

Life will be fine and as the same as before.

Nothing, no worries and no responsibilities.

Simple, just fun

and everything will be fine.

Lilli, Li

Writing game 6

Today we have naming of the past.

To-day we have naming of the past. Yesterday,

We had gone through the whole city. And to-morrow morning,

We shall have found him with his lovely smile. But to-day,

To-day we have naming of the past. The sun shine on the cracks of the cement, cables cross over the shadow and blood colored the white fabric on the wall,

And to-day we have naming of the past.

This is the chair he had for his 10^th birthday last week. And this

Is the wall of his room, which you will see,

Where he painted his world with colorful imagination. And this is the first football he had,

Which your children have not got. Football made by paper, with different kinds of texture and color,

Which your children have not got.

This is our building, where they throw the bomb on. And please let me

See his smile under the sunshine. And I believe we can see the smile

If we can go through today. His smile was as sweet as the blossom in spring, and why would the sun goes on shinning without he smiling,

His smile under the sunshine.

And this you can see the blood in the water. The nature

Is involved in the war, as you see. The blood is in the water

Without merging with each other, or the nature is resisting it: this is

The war between the governments, but not with the nature or the innocent. And without merging with each other

Like the memories we had and this experience of war:

We lost our child, and

We should resist the war.

We should resist the war: it is perfectly easy

If we have the strength to believe ourselves and tomorrow: If you know what is going wrong in the world, change it, and not to give up tomorrow

Where the hope will be; the crying and yelling of people

Silently playing in the war,

For to-day we have naming of the past.

Lilli, Li

opening sources, play the game!

ORIGINAL POEM

Faith melts in his warm mouth

Loveless he faces the umbrage of upstaged girls
Whom he´d banged into their brains strange wonders and confused ways.

On sumac lips passing like northern lights
His kisses tickle softer than cattail and pussy
Willow on his face a lust for the sun curled up

And dying.. November

NEW POEM

Lust melts in his look

Loveless he faces the passiveness of upstaged girls
Whom he'd banged into their brains strange wonders and confused responses

On sumac lips passing like northern birds
His kisses mesmerize softer than wine and delicate
Melodies and then explode with the sun rising up

And dying -- the night