ROUND TWO: (5)NYCSPITZ vs. (21)oXus - (OXUS WINS 7-1)

[PancakeBrah]

The Winter Topical
Totoro oXus

Verse Deadline: 1/24/2014,11:59 Pacific
Voting Deadline: 1/27/2014 (4 Votes Required)
Line Min/Max: 16/48
Extension/Line Extension by request. Must be agreed to.

Topic
"I am secretly in love with everyone that I grew up with."
-Matt Berninger

Good luck to both.

[Eŋg]

_the heart pounds (boom).

Raised with a heavy hand, no cornucopia to nuzzle,
Seven siblings; each choose to be lonesome, above all
In a repressive setting: Love was loathsome; a struggle.
Built a jigsaw, yet every soul was its own chunk of puzzle,
Broke it; choked on the rubble, thought chewing was acrid.
Youth was erratic. Found myself in several places.
School sought to dull anything conceptually native,
Writing could lift scars that were indelible… plaintive,
Would oft bleed on the page to find the remedy makeshift,
From prodigious to prodigal, confidence effectively tainted,
This condition of living’s an unforgettable ailment.
I remember, a nascent, second-hand haze of that chemical fragrance,
The memory traces: lines pensive, and latent, yet to be painted.
Lulled in the hull of a tenable stasis,
I reflect and guess I always felt better berated,
A good posture is meant to be measured amazing
If and when there’s pressure pressing a head in the pavement.
Watching ink, which penned my next of kin, fading,
My lexical basis had little to no hold on more delicate phrasings
as the pendulum sways it
brings attention to the pencil’s thin shavings spread on the page. If
I only ever tried to emulate, ancient, elegant cadence
I’d be nothing but a celibate agent having never created.
I definitely created:
An ode to a seraph’s majestic greatness
or a swan song for those delicate, shaped, hips
made more potent/cogent only when it provoked objection,
Met the brother once -- third time I’d broken my septum.
Misplaced gestated seeds merely invoke a rejection.
Unsure where to sit, nearly tripped, at each end of an emotional spectrum:
I feared love, and loved to fear the very throes of acceptance,
Under a similar guise I strummed melodic strokes with a plectrum,
In hopes it’d affect them hoe’s defects and I could grope in a bed but
it was so disrespectful, a soul’s proto-projection.
Never been shy, but with a lens? every photo’s an emblem.
Every fold on the camera roll’s an anecdotal lesson.
The way I shaped answers would depend on who’s asking.
I remember the feeling. It’s not like I’ve moved past it,
Who could move fastest out of the usual classes?
Scrutable clashes with pedagogues influenced a passive
-aggression, after I had the prudence to mask it. Before that it was classless,
ironic, abashment. Every authority figure’s a confluent bastard.
Repeat the pattern. Relapse. Reset the cannon and blast.
Select the penance and pad; present (at least) a semblance of fact,
Until each blue month resumes and I don’t seek to come anew,
to leak the ink in meek attempts to speak another truth.
If it was a secret; to be in love with everyone I grew up with.
It wasn’t hard to keep it when I never knew love’s pith.

[NYCSPITZ]

Winter winds whirpool the softly settling snow
a homeless man sits, serene in his melting abode
Thinking pose, frozen to bone; the felt of his robe
flutters frayed, gray amidst this muted delta of souls
the concrete island - a fountain stream which levels and flows
Columbus Circle, January. Body nestled in stone...
the waterworks' synthetic sound is a lesson bestowed
businessmen with icy stares can never lessen this cold.

. . .

Amnesia - grants me reprieve from my whirlwind past
I have data, just no memory but the twirling crash...
Nothing more. Except for the smell of my girlfriend's flat.
...the only thing I know for sure is that the world went mad.
I was reborn a few months ago in Central Park. Wise in mind but knotted in heart
my only friends stand on those big stones which dot up the park.

. . .

...General Custard's moody this morning. Standing tall, his collar is parched
he twists around as I near, his proud man's sneer - a common facade
There's tension in his face. That bronze countenance, so awful and taut.
"Top of the morning General!"
in a rage - "Private! We'll take LeGrange Hill and model its top
arrange tents and attend to wounded who hobble and cough.
This war'll be over soon enough. Those damned Confederates will topple and flop!
Get to work! The dead rest proud...but as of now they're fodder for hawks."
I chortled. His bug-eyed, saber pointing pantomimes were always a chuckle.
a salute. "My interests lie to the South today, I can't support your bawling and bustle."
I wave an admonishing finger, turn and fall...then crawl out a puddle.

. . .

Humans are similar to before. Ego-driven, neurotic: the highest of beasts
but in this new world they just mumble - there's a loss to their speech
only my new friends can speak, all these other mutes in confidence seek
some impotent cause to live for - to accomplish their peak.
I trudge away, South...to the second and last friend I sport in this world
on a pedestal by the lake's bridge - a short little girl.
My presence warms her. She pulls up her skirt, curtsies and gorgeously twirls
a goddess' eyes, all black: something unborn of this world.
"Hello." She said.
"There's the little lady." I wheeze it out, squint suspiciously at her and crouch down
...I've been breathing my last breath for too many months now.
"Surrealist prose: creating art as a will against mechanical posturing in an era of wavering will"
"That was my dissertation! I remember it verbatim, in fact I play with it still
You're a prodigy Sue. I know you understand the state of what's real
life's circle turns, merciless - whether you ride or stray from its wheel
I just...can't decide whether this world made of clay or of steel."
She smiles wickedly - the statue sees him clear to the bone
her false face suddenly looms into focus - it was by far the worst fear that he'd known.
the girl's face glints in the sun - as she grants him an absolution of kinds:
"Your lover and daughter died in that crash, the same caused this dissolution of mind
but blame your magnum opus, that sorry work for consuming your pride...
This reality's a mirror of your obsession: the evil of your path
...your views are just the consummation of people in your past
in a sick way you're fond of this mental fog and amusement
secretly in love with all who brought on the illusion.




. . .

[Lars]

English had a lot to like here, real good wording throughout, even those small additions such as "From prodigious to prodigal," resonated with me personally, it shows a keen eye to detail in his writers voice and he doesn't let a single word go to waste in his writing. He seemed determined here, really focused on what he put to pad, with good direction. This had stronger application than his piece last round, it was more cohesive as a whole and felt more complete.

Met the brother once -- third time I’d broken my septum.
Misplaced gestated seeds merely invoke a rejection.
Unsure where to sit, nearly tripped, at each end of an emotional spectrum:
I feared love, and loved to fear the very throes of acceptance,
Under a similar guise I strummed melodic strokes with a plectrum,
In hopes it’d affect them hoe’s defects and I could grope in a bed but
it was so disrespectful, a soul’s proto-projection.
Never been shy, but with a lens? every photo’s an emblem.
Every fold on the camera roll’s an anecdotal lesson.


This section was my personal favourite, really reminiscent of... me, I guess? Maybe a hint of Pent uP about that writing. The carrying of the multi string while still maintaining perfect diction and driving the piece forward was brilliance. Great showing.

Totoro: I loved that you started with an alliteration, sometimes they come without intending them to, but you definately did that intentionally. I'm a fan! I didn't think 'melting abode' worked how you intended here, seemed to suggest the whole place melted rather than just the snow around it. It was good to see you also carrying the same multi string over several lines, the one thing with doing that which is more prevalent in yours than in English's (in my opinion) is that at times it can feel convoluted and unnatural, which is what it is essentially I guess, it's just when done well it's less noticeable but there it is. The other thing I find while reading this is the flow in certain places is hard for me to follow, mainly because of lines like this that just have wayyyy too many syllables to them for me to flow out loud when reading. English's was crisper, smoother, due to the shorter line lengths his piece had. There were a few of these throughout your piece,

I was reborn a few months ago in Central Park. Wise in mind but knotted in heart

a salute. "My interests lie to the South today, I can't support your bawling and bustle."


"Surrealist prose: creating art as a will against mechanical posturing in an era of wavering will"

You see what I mean? There is just too much happening in each of those, keeping them shorter and maybe expounding on them over a few couplets would have served you better in my opinion. Your ending almost brought it all full circle to the topic though, which was a great tie-in to the rest of the piece and made for a great closer. All in all a solid enough showing, I just feel like English had enough gloss and polish to his verse to put him over you this round for me. Vote - Oxus

[Nigma]

oxus, interesting approach. came across kind of overly descriptive but that was your chosen style and you made it work. I feel like instead of progressing your ideas you sort of laid a constant barrage of imagery and diction that related to the topic but anything more that that was hard to follow after one read. I feel as though if I were to study this piece there would be a lot more to grasp, but time is of the essence. I enjoyed this for what it was

Spitz, this was an ambitious verse. I'd almost say you tried to do too much conceptually too quickly, at the end of the verse I felt as thought it was a unique spin on the concept but also like there was lots I did not understand. Your opener was nicely written with a poetic veil to it, from there I felt lost at times and the whole verse didn't really come together for me. The writing was there, just felt like it needed a more straightforward advancement in terms of plot

+1 oXus

[Vulgar]

oXus - 'Don't sweat the technique' resounded in my head shortly after reading this twice. As is customary for you, you dress the wounds (your personal blueprint on scholarly life) with words I expect you to use like indelible, lexical, tenable, nascent, etc. For one, I liked how you 'rejected' the premise of the topic by explaining why you never knew love on a name to name basis, so why would keeping the secret be compromised by other forces? It wouldn't. Your narrator voice will always be (I fear) the skinnier, more English accented Badr Hari. I'm talking Muqshafari the String Bean type of vocal capacity. I can't help it, this is what the board has done to me (and to you.) You took us through your childhood, told us about your views on schooling and higher education, revealing some of your flaws along the way. Writing was the focal point, which you used to bind together the doubtful frenetics of an unfulfilling youth with the future prospect of making a living as a wordsmith. According to that interpretation, this approach was a little bit expected from you, but I'm glad you actually wrote a full bodied verse. In the past, you've short sighted yourself by attempting "art" which maybe lacked a little in the interpersonal department. I don't think you had that problem here; the reader was given wholesome doses of Ingles.

NYCSPITZ - It's about a homeless man who used to be a father and a lover. His cherished ones die and he hangs out in Central Park making friends with statues that possibly represent the lifeless side of reality: our time will come, but so long as we die with our heads held high, as men, death won't have the last laugh. I'd consider the storyline slightly discombobulated. You had me with the intro, then kept gaining steam and switching to a different perspective. For my own personal preference, I would have stuck with a maximum of 2 and set it off. The language/rhyming was crisp. Just the overall organization left something to be desired. The homeless man is also a surrealist painter? Or an amateur soul sculptor putting the finishing touches on the warbled abyss of his own demise.

businessmen with icy stares can never lessen this cold.
^why would icy stares lessen the cold?

turn and fall...then crawl out a puddle.
^this part was so meh to me.

I'm going to vote for oXus for hitting a home run. It was a good battle.

[big baby]

oXus. Good piece of writing here. I like your word usage you cheeky, person you. Also. Good story. It reminded me a bit of lars writing. Not in its entirety, because you guys have totally different writing styles, but just the way it's structured and the initial underlined thought process is similar. You guys could probably be a compatible match if you were gay!

That being said, this was one of my better liked verses of the round. I'm a little hesitant to say that I think you might double check your verses more-so than I. I don't at all. I feel you have this laziness to you,but not in a bad way. Moreso a pretentious overall sting that comes off, that you don't go back to see if theres anything wrong, not because you aren't a perfectionist, not because you're lazy, and not because you're cocky, just because I think you think if it's not right - it ain't meant to be, sort of thinking. This was awesome. I saw you made more than a few edits, I've read your verse quite a bit and if my memory serves me right you made about 2 changes. I think maybe 3. Not sure. I wish I could do that. I might go back and do it. I see a compound word in mine that can be seen as two words, but I think everyones reading it as the other way, which in its line is okay, but the syllable's are off. Anyway, to your verse. Mechanically it is good. You have a knack of fooling around with dactyl settings. Masculine and pyrrhic constants are constantly showing up through a wide array of verbage. The storyline maintained a distant yet impending formula.


I feared love, and loved to fear the very throes of acceptance,
Under a similar guise I strummed melodic strokes with a plectrum,

lol. I liked the feared love, loved to fear reversal bit. I do that a lot. And in doing so you can make up, or create new lines. It's an awesome and fun, brilliant little tool.


Unsure where to sit, nearly tripped, at each end of an emotional spectrum:
I feared love, and loved to fear the very throes of acceptance,
Under a similar guise I strummed melodic strokes with a plectrum,
In hopes it’d affect them hoe’s defects and I could grope in a bed but
it was so disrespectful, a soul’s proto-projection.
Never been shy, but with a lens? every photo’s an emblem.
Every fold on the camera roll’s an anecdotal lesson.

This whole piece read decent. This was probably the weakest part of your verse to me. It seemed to try and correlate the concept of a camera, and photography, but it just seemed random to me. And almost, like I said. Lazy. With that said. You drew a picture, and quite a good drawing at that, coupled with swift brush strokes, and a fervent, constant colorine. You killed it. Made it your own and most of all, didn't delineate too far, enough for a connection with the audience, yourself, emotions and the topic. Excellent.

NYC. Where do I start. Dope start. And dope ending. What confused me the most was your middle. Most writers pride themselves on satisfying themselves to an extent. Like that girl that read blacks piece on the dating site, she knew it was good, she knew it was advanced, she just didn't know anything. That's what I feel sometimes when I read your pieces. You have this large expansive vocabulary. And if I were to match you with anybody in this tournament, it would be oX or a less structured vulgar with a pensive measure. You guys are kinda one in the same box. That's a good thing - but one thing I have to say about you guys is the way you go about things, and sometimes your vocabulary is a bit awkward in the way it's used. And in this battle itself I feel oxus did everything slightly more to my liking. You can connect elements, but with such awkward and far fetched networks, it bares uncommon to some and it just doesnt have that writers luster that it couldve or respectfully, shouldve had. What sort of threw me off was the generals piece. I feel you took a risk breaking it down here and though, fruitfully written, with such oustanding connections, I felt you made a bit of a leap. Mechanically, it is there, though I see some faults, and you have a customary habit of cutting cutlets of amphibrach weaving, with typical form of sentence clusters. For example. You had almost 0 transitioning in your entire verse, which was outstanding. You had a alliterary assonance effect in SOME, such as warm/girl/world in that cluster ahead of the generals piece, but that's about it. From what I can remember. This just makes for a complex read much LESS smoother to read. Readers, especially on a hip hop orientated site love the connecting of transitional phrasing through syllablic notion. You remind me of shakespeare, almost - lol. Take that as a compliment, or do not. You have a sort of iambic sense to you, where your femininity, typically speaking, in words, not through signature of your overall aura, is sorta a reversed inversion of the typical pentameter. You usually end in a masculine sense, and begin or mix in feminine clusters. That's typical of you, and I think only you. Deadman is also another writer that contributes this to an extent, but it's hard to think off, off the top of my head because it is very vast. The stressing of certain syllables come off as perturbly awkward, and maybe that's why you have a less motivating stance on transitioning fluently. That's the only assimilation I can make based on your awkward mid of your verse. The intri***y was vivid, and the connections you made were vast, and I felt you shot out a chakra wave in all directions instead of a centered beam like oxus. Though you cna have success shooting wildly in all ways, this was a centralized topic, and you took it in your hands to weave it more complex as usual. This is typical of you, since you have this sort of odd way of approaching things, but they still come out beautifully. I think here though, you did a little bit too much when you couldve woven a beautiful, understanding, and simpler piece. I love what you did, just not how you conveyed it at times.


the girl's face glints in the sun - as she grants him an absolution of kinds:
"Your lover and daughter died in that crash, the same caused this dissolution of mind
but blame your magnum opus, that sorry work for consuming your pride...
This reality's a mirror of your obsession: the evil of your path
...your views are just the consummation of people in your past
in a sick way you're fond of this mental fog and amusement
secretly in love with all who brought on the illusion.

The last two lines, were good. But that was your finishin couplet and it tied into the verse very oddly. I just wished you brushed up on your mechanics here, the outcome coudlve been different. Again. I loved your story line. And everything you embodied. I seemed to be harsh on criticisms and patronizing explanations of nothing really, but that wasnt my intention. I just get frustrated when you could create something grand but you limit yourself due to reprisal in a metaphorical sense

[Certain]

I am reserving a voting spot.

[Pent uP]

Oxus -- I loved the diction to this piece - it moved at an alarming pace and let no word go to waste. The rhyming was intricately woven and you didn't let it go stale. The concept flip, as i understood it, was interesting: You didnt grow up with anyone (really) except the pen and pad and that's what you love. A weird flip into a flex topic almost. which, while I'm here, seems like what most you write comes off as flex on the surface but has a deeper, resounding, meaning. I think the emotion encapsulated in this verse and the lyricism carried you well. good stuff.

NYC --I really dig the message at the end here - that our entire outlook on life is built on a neurosis stemming from a culmination of our past interactions....thats really dope and i want to steal it lmfao. I think you spent too much time setting up the initial scene and leading the reader astray, OR - i missed the connection between the beginning and end (in which case im sorry). I felt like the story with the girl was more important and more cohesive without the introductory portion. It would have been easier (IMO) to set up the image of a soldier taking leave to go visit a mirage or something of the sort and drive your point across more effectively/giving you time to characterize/set up more emotional basis'.

Overall -- I feel that there was something amazing within NYC's verse but he didn't do enough to expose it on the proper platform. I felt Oxus had a solid piece of writing and was entertained by it all the way through

vote - Ox

[Certain]

oXus: You're one of the best writers in this tournament, and I knew you were underseeded (and showed so by predicting you to make the quarterfinals). But you were a bit of a mystery as far as approaching topics. And you probably still are. But man, you really killed this. Your writing is an exact mirror to your personality here, a bit over-educated and intellectualizing more than intellectual but still very articulate and interesting. At times, the wording can be a little stiff, but mostly the diction was tremendous. I loved the line about meeting your brother. The take on the topic was very, very direct, though. I prefer something more creative, but you have shown a distaste for more fiction-driven storytelling. This was very relatable and enjoyable, though.

Totoro: I'm pretty sure you mean General Sherman. Anyway, I think you bit off a little more than you could chew this time around. You tried to do a lot with storytelling but seemed distracted from really developing your main character properly. Your writing wasn't as crisp and interesting as it normally is. I don't think this verse was rushed as much as a flawed idea on a topic that probably leant itself to a more simplistic approach. The introduction really wasn't pleasing for me, as I dislike starting with the weather normally and especially when you have winds whirlpooling and the surroundings both melting and frozen. The last section required several reads, and I don't think the final statement was fully supported by the character development, at least not well enough to garner the proper emotional reading.

Vote: oXus

[dead man]

Repeat the pattern. Relapse. Reset the cannon and blast.
Select the penance and pad; present (at least) a semblance of fact,

awesome.

eng - it took me a couple reads before i could really get ahold of your endgame. i am always a fan of your written voice. its a touch pretentious, but not without merit. it says that you have seen, heard, and overthought an entire midlife crisis for yourself at a young age. but you feel so old already. i think this is a point in which you and i intersect on a personal level. your approach felt very autobiographical which usually yields a very interesting verse because to that end, there are limitless possibilities from which to pick and choose. i was not a fan of some of the rhyme choices you presented us with but that is a usual qualm of mine with your work and i always felt it was pretty superficial as far as your intent is concerned. you round the verse out well with a direct reference to love and your relationship with the mysticism and myth of it's presence in your life. it almost resonates with the human condition concept that big baby and zygote tackled in another battle. i do not have the energy at the moment to give a full discourse on my reaction to this verse but i will tell you i found it to be thoughtful and heavy-handed in the best possible manner.

nyc - i am selfishly reminded of similar pieces i have written. the prodigious street urchin is a central archetype i have used in a couple verses. some more autobiographical than others. you purposefully leave a blank space as far as this man's life before his 'rebirth' which i thought was a great way to phrase the state of amnesia. as expected, you give brilliant detail and descriptive nuggets of rhyming expertise such as:

flutters frayed, gray amidst this muted delta of souls
the concrete island - a fountain stream which levels and flows

I just...can't decide whether this world made of clay or of steel."

which serves to propel your concept to the surface of it's own density. i think against almost any opponent this round, you would have secured your victory far-and-away based solely on your attention to minute detail and description of this amnesia-laden PhD with a purpose. however, your lack of the intuitive big-picture content is what sacrificed this match for you imo. there was simply not enough to flesh out this character sketch with enough blood and bone to make it relatable or believable. i think, given a longer line limit or a second draft, you would have secured this battle rather easily. unfortunately, i have always known you as a writer to open your brain and simply let us read what bleeds at face value. it is a charm and this week it was your weakness. i was very much looking forward to our meeting at semi finals old friend.. guess i'll have to catch you next time around.


v/oxus aka INGLES in a very tough decision. like most matches have been this round.


sincerest thanks. love y'all both for what you do.


1

[oats]

Eng: I thought this was a vintage verse from you. The rhyming was unique and crisp all the way through. Every word felt necessary and relevant. The steady pace and multi/rhyme scheme switches were really complimentary, definitely entertained just by reading it. The story was good too - in a tournament of writers, I'm sure everyone can relate to the idea of having greater intimacy with one's words than with others. Doesn't hurt that I recall specific arguments with professors about the initial conflict, the whole "why should I study other people's thoughts instead of contributing my own?" This verse connected with me on a number of layers, I truly enjoyed reading it. My only knock: the story was a bit of a safe bet, but at the same time the twist on the topic was fresh and interesting, so it never came off as predictable or cliche.


NYC: The concept was phenomenal - the academic who dedicated more time to his work than his family, and when his daughter was wiped away, he loses it. The memory of his daughter is equivalent to the past he studied. The comparison between his daughter and his magnum opus was subtle, but noticeable, and fleshed out the character. It wasn't that he didn't love his daughter, he was just caught in the vertigo of his work/passion. It was an interesting conflict, no question. Personally, I would have liked to see his dissertation be about history somehow. It would have fit well following the conversation with Custard.

I'm also torn on how I feel about the writing. There were some truly beautiful lines in there (clay/steel line comes to mind), but because you wanted to fit in the full wording it stretched some of the lines out to the point they became rhythmically unrecognizable. It didn't flow together with the whole, even though many of those lines definitely stood out on their own. In a way, I'm glad, because your descriptions demanded those extra words, but on the other hand, it did somewhat compromise the readability. But you made the right call - better to have good writing than good flow.


Vote: This is another back and forth affair. English had a more polished, complete verse, but NYC had a much greater aim, and for the most part pulled it off. Like Split/Vulgar, this comes down to sheer preference, as there is very little separating the two verses. On a first read-through, I was going with Eng, but after a couple of re-reads I felt stronger about the grandiose attempt from NYC. Another really dope match, tip of the hat to both men.