Connected

[Pent uP]

[dis]Connected

Flickering hues lit all the room: their faces and walls.
They complacently call eachother names like 'babe' that evolved
throughout the years, loud and clear, from the faith they installed
escaping the faults that's made them elated, enthralled,
entangled and caught. They're so close - in separated realms.
Thumbs thumbing the screen - drum thumping machines messaging their friends.
No leverage to their heads: they're glued like Texans to their pelt -
connected in themselves through a cybernetically embedded
skeleton and shell electrically developed between the screen and their eye.
He's feeling sublime, on the couch, reading the lies -
completely online with the The Onion, Wikimedia, Chive.
Their only hope is he notices when she stretches her cheeks in a smile.

'Fuzzies' are made from the seat to his side: she's on the love-seat adjacent.
By herself, trying to buy herself scrunchies and bracelets.
Munching on Lay chips - drowning their puppy's engagement
with the crunch that they're making. Neither drunk nor complacent,
just stuck in the stages between ready to squab and getting along.
A connection is lost - closest they come is petting the dog.
Friends and their job are never questioned a lot
but scenarios of settling are apprehensively thought.
The consensus is not spoken of - consider it sacred -
Tablets zip-tying faces until lips are strung by the digital matrix.
Pixels equate with pleading the fifth in arraignments:
and their eyes are drawn with a hint of dumb blankness.

Their principles make it and the tribulations harder than war.
Locked in their corners - their bodies are corpses - this the modern rapport.
Said to be lovers but dead to eachother through hearts they adore:
they're starving for more on the ground obstacle floor.
As problems are formed they progress their connection to the glow -
The rhetoric is old - one that everybody knows:
The further they're getting in their home, the more pressure on their souls.
Lessening control until everything goes to hell and it explodes.
Love assembled by the oafs - setting it in stone and ruining their hearts.
Visualized, digitized, minimized and consuming all the charge.
Brooding is an art that Photoshop embellished for the truly Avant-garde;
If any of this applies to you, you've been doomed right from the start.

[Pent uP]

This is an old verse I had laying around.

I've given a bit of feedback in the last month or so and voted around the site. If that's not enough I'll drop some feedback later this week just let me know I still have to

[DexLabb]

idk man u seem chill but the COUPLETS are super forced.. like not even natural just mechanical square into a circular hole type of deal

[Adonis]

I enjoyed this faggot. Flow was simply dope and extremely consistent. Not only that, but the meaning behind individual lines and bars were just dope. A few were stretched for idea/concepts sake, but they still flowed, so I can't really complain. i feel like this should be a possible Zen HOF fame vote. Depends on what else is entered, but at least a mention is nice. Some really solid writing.

[Pent uP]

Up 1 time

[Sho Money EMG]

[dis]Connected

Flickering hues lit all the room: their faces and walls.
They complacently call eachother names like 'babe' that evolved
throughout the years, loud and clear, from the faith they installed
escaping the faults that's made them elated, enthralled,
entangled and caught. They're so close - in separated realms.
Thumbs thumbing the screen - drum thumping machines messaging their friends.
No leverage to their heads: they're glued like Texans to their pelt -
connected in themselves through a cybernetically embedded
skeleton and shell electrically developed between the screen and their eye.
He's feeling sublime, on the couch, reading the lies -
completely online with the The Onion, Wikimedia, Chive.
Their only hope is he notices when she stretches her cheeks in a smile.

Loved this. The flow was redic, also the switch in the multis was intriguing and done well. Great reference and good message.


'Fuzzies' are made from the seat to his side: she's on the love-seat adjacent.
By herself, trying to buy herself scrunchies and bracelets.
Munching on Lay chips - drowning their puppy's engagement
with the crunch that they're making. Neither drunk nor complacent,

Great wording, dope multis. Again enjoyed the references.

just stuck in the stages between ready to squab and getting along.
A connection is lost - closest they come is petting the dog.
Friends and their job are never questioned a lot
but scenarios of settling are apprehensively thought.
The consensus is not spoken of - consider it sacred -
Tablets zip-tying faces until lips are strung by the digital matrix.
Pixels equate with pleading the fifth in arraignments:
and their eyes are drawn with a hint of dumb blankness.

the flow was FLAWLESS here. Multis were perfect. This was well written.

Their principles make it and the tribulations harder than war.
Locked in their corners - their bodies are corpses - this the modern rapport.
Said to be lovers but dead to eachother through hearts they adore:
they're starving for more on the ground obstacle floor.

SICK.

As problems are formed they progress their connection to the glow -
The rhetoric is old - one that everybody knows:
The further they're getting in their home, the more pressure on their souls.
Lessening control until everything goes to hell and it explodes.
Love assembled by the oafs - setting it in stone and ruining their hearts.
Visualized, digitized, minimized and consuming all the charge.
Brooding is an art that Photoshop embellished for the truly Avant-garde;
If any of this applies to you, you've been doomed right from the start.

lol real sick. Great vocabulary showcased here. Continued on w/ an exciting style of seeing what's next. Loved this piece man, great work.

[veritas]

Flickering hues lit all the room: their faces and walls.
They complacently call eachother names like 'babe' that evolved
throughout the years, loud and clear, from the faith they installed
escaping the faults that's made them elated, enthralled,
entangled and caught. They're so close - in separated realms.
Thumbs thumbing the screen - drum thumping machines messaging their friends.
No leverage to their heads: they're glued like Texans to their pelt -
connected in themselves through a cybernetically embedded
skeleton and shell electrically developed between the screen and their eye.
He's feeling sublime, on the couch, reading the lies -
completely online with the The Onion, Wikimedia, Chive.
Their only hope is he notices when she stretches her cheeks in a smile.

So true. So true. Excellent depiction of a real world problem. Also, possibly the soulution lol. Batty and I were talking about this, my wife and I went out to eat a while ago and we looked around and EVERYONE were on their phones. My thought was, :if I am paying for you to eat I should be able to enjoy your company, I did not invite your facebook friends:". Batty told me that he knew of a husband and wife who would literally sit in their living rooms on a couch and talk to each other on facebook. this world needs to be nuked. Anyway...you have skill with wording, you already know that, concise and intelligent, and thank you for confirming my own thoughts about this world. peace.

[dead man]

Ya this was very spot on. Well written, insightful and full of truth.

Is this the verse you were referring to in the tournament?

[Pent uP]

Ya this was very spot on. Well written, insightful and full of truth.

Is this the verse you were referring to in the tournament?

Not at all. This was just something I wrote once and never posted.

thanks

[Clayray]

Hella dope lol hate to use such a primitive phrase in something much more than that! But it's all I can say.

"..closest they come is petting the dog.."

Fire

You spoke on a real level. I look around my house now & I can see what you're writing about.

[Pent uP]

Thanks guys...any more

[big baby]

Topicals, in a sense are formulaic. I sort of cringe when reading and I see the end of the line approaching peripherally. I don want the line to end. And part of me doesn't like stanzas for that matter, because since its so formulaic, the emotions embedded are almost thrusted into you at the beginning when the author is explaining or describing any sort. In an instance where you went on with the longer scheme in the first paragraph, that was probably the only instance this didnt prove true. But that's probably the ONLY instance where you did that. I hate feeling that I think I know what's going to come up next. IT's a step up from the battle arena where its set-up, punch, diss, set up, punch. Repeat. In a topical, more poetic lounge, you can negate that formula and create your own. This here seemed like you never really took a step and pivoted with a dance of your own tune. You just sort of wrote - quite well, but you just wrote.

Also in one tune, it's just...when I read things, I read them and I say, "that doesn't make that MUCH sense, in that context" but as a reader I can digest things differently, but theres instances where lines don't really have a accurate measure of things. And the meaning is so far off, that connecting with the reader becomes futile, and it may turn the reader off, like in this line here

drunk nor complacent, you seem to be connecting the two in some sort of fashion when in reality these two definition CAN be connected but not in such a relative manner. Dont get me wrong, they CAN be, by definition, but when you think complacency and its intri***ies, yes the feeling a emotionally invested inebriated state can bring out complacency, but the way you brought it out and presented it seemed mediocre to me. (I do get the picture you're trying to paint, between a modern disquietude and the connections they may, or may not perceive to be enjoyable)

Overall I read this verse many times. About 10. More than any other verse I've read in awhile. Just because I was trying to digest as much of it as I can. I did this throughout a period from the day you posted it, until now. I had much more feed each day I was writing a comment, but decided to save it till later. I wanted to pinpoint objectives I think you lacked in. We all know this is better than average, but I don't think you really got out enough as you wanted too. You seemed stuck at times, even if you did get out as much as you warranted

[Split]

got this

[Pent uP]

got this

Drunk?

[theMuzzl3]

I thought this was pretty dope.

[oats]

Haven't forgot. Will get back to this later.
Pent uP have no fear

[Pent uP]

got this

Haven't forgot. Will get back to this later.

ALL OF THESE EMPTY PROMISES

[Split]

I WASN'T DRUNK BUT I WILL BE SOON, PENTUP

[NYCSPITZ]

Topicals, in a sense are formulaic. I sort of cringe when reading and I see the end of the line approaching peripherally. I don want the line to end. And part of me doesn't like stanzas for that matter, because since its so formulaic, the emotions embedded are almost thrusted into you at the beginning when the author is explaining or describing any sort. In an instance where you went on with the longer scheme in the first paragraph, that was probably the only instance this didnt prove true. But that's probably the ONLY instance where you did that. I hate feeling that I think I know what's going to come up next. IT's a step up from the battle arena where its set-up, punch, diss, set up, punch. Repeat. In a topical, more poetic lounge, you can negate that formula and create your own. This here seemed like you never really took a step and pivoted with a dance of your own tune. You just sort of wrote - quite well, but you just wrote.

Also in one tune, it's just...when I read things, I read them and I say, "that doesn't make that MUCH sense, in that context" but as a reader I can digest things differently, but theres instances where lines don't really have a accurate measure of things. And the meaning is so far off, that connecting with the reader becomes futile, and it may turn the reader off, like in this line here

you seem to be connecting the two in some sort of fashion when in reality these two definition CAN be connected but not in such a relative manner. Dont get me wrong, they CAN be, by definition, but when you think complacency and its intri***ies, yes the feeling a emotionally invested inebriated state can bring out complacency, but the way you brought it out and presented it seemed mediocre to me. (I do get the picture you're trying to paint, between a modern disquietude and the connections they may, or may not perceive to be enjoyable)

Overall I read this verse many times. About 10. More than any other verse I've read in awhile. Just because I was trying to digest as much of it as I can. I did this throughout a period from the day you posted it, until now. I had much more feed each day I was writing a comment, but decided to save it till later. I wanted to pinpoint objectives I think you lacked in. We all know this is better than average, but I don't think you really got out enough as you wanted too. You seemed stuck at times, even if you did get out as much as you warranted

Really incoherent feed j like ur verses tbh

Riddled with horrible spelling and logic as usual...

[Pent uP]

Really incoherent feed j like ur verses tbh

Riddled with horrible spelling and logic as usual...

While I appreciate the defense, there are valid views in his feedback..to some degree anyway.

you should feed the verse instead of the other feedbackers

[big baby]

if anybody thinks nyc is better than me at anything speak now

[Fig]

if anybody thinks nyc is better than me at anything speak now

He's better at sucking

[Pent uP]

I WASN'T DRUNK BUT I WILL BE SOON, PENTUP

Haven't forgot. Will get back to this later.
Pent uP have no fear

fearful

[oats]

DONT WORRY I GOT THIS

[theMuzzl3]

if anybody thinks nyc is better than me at anything speak now

I'm trying so hard to be better at EGO.

Everybody is better than you at at LEAST one thing.


Quote from Tao Te Ching:
50
The Master gives himself up
to whatever the moment brings.
He knows that he is going to die,
and her has nothing left to hold on to:
no illusions in his mind,
no resistances in his body.
He doesn't think about his actions;
they flow from the core of his being.
He holds nothing back from life;
therefore he is ready for death,
as a man is ready for sleep
after a good day's work.

[Listen]

Hey,

Very well-written. Truth be told? It was just a very good piece....

Until -

For me, anyways, I read this:

"The rhetoric is old - one that everybody knows:
The further they're getting in their home, the more pressure on their souls. "

They say sometimes your "less-than-amazing" efforts may contain one of the most amazing tidbits in it. For me this was it.

Looking forward to reading some of your new stuff.

Good read.

[Split]

K let me take a shower first brah

[Split]

Def fed this before when it dropped, I remember the match. Will probably give better feed now though.



[dis]Connected

Flickering hues lit all the room: their faces and walls.
They complacently call eachother names like 'babe' that evolved
throughout the years, loud and clear, from the faith they installed
escaping the faults that's made them elated, enthralled,
entangled and caught.
No complaints with the rhyme scheme or the flow. It really ebbed and flowed, almost like a Pancake verse but more structured. Thought your word choice was too aloof and developed faster than the opening of a verse should. However jumping right into the thick of things can be indicative of really inspired writing, and I just mean that it was like an avalanche of detail right off the bat.

They're so close - in separated realms.
Thumbs thumbing the screen - drum thumping machines messaging their friends.
No leverage to their heads: they're glued like Texans to their pelt -


Didn't like Texans to their pelt or separated realms. Both those ideas/ phrases are good, but the heavy line in-between made the rhyme seem like an afterthought, and "Texans to their pelt" is decidedly off-canter in comparison to the tightly-themed wording in the rest of the verse.


connected in themselves through a cybernetically embedded
skeleton and shell electrically developed between the screen and their eye.
He's feeling sublime, on the couch, reading the lies -
completely online with the The Onion, Wikimedia, Chive.
Their only hope is he notices when she stretches her cheeks in a smile.
"lies" was dumb, first two lines had fantastic delivery. Lot of pack to the punch. I like the last two lines a lot as well, bringing in your own tone.



'Fuzzies' are made from the seat to his side: she's on the love-seat adjacent.
By herself, trying to buy herself scrunchies and bracelets.
Munching on Lay chips - drowning their puppy's engagement
with the crunch that they're making. Neither drunk nor complacent,
just stuck in the stages between ready to squab and getting along.
A connection is lost - closest they come is petting the dog.


'puppy's engagement' forced. Drunk nor complacent, cool. LCD Soundsytem fan?

Like how you used the dog, symbolically.

Friends and their job are never questioned a lot
but scenarios of settling are apprehensively thought.
The consensus is not spoken of - consider it sacred -
Tablets zip-tying faces until lips are strung by the digital matrix.
Pixels equate with pleading the fifth in arraignments:
and their eyes are drawn with a hint of dumb blankness.

Their principles make it and the tribulations harder than war.
Locked in their corners - their bodies are corpses - this the modern rapport.
Said to be lovers but dead to eachother through hearts they adore:
they're starving for more on the ground obstacle floor.
As problems are formed they progress their connection to the glow -


Solid. No comments of note.


The rhetoric is old - one that everybody knows:
The further they're getting in their home, the more pressure on their souls.
Lessening control until everything goes to hell and it explodes.
Love assembled by the oafs - setting it in stone and ruining their hearts.
Visualized, digitized, minimized and consuming all the charge.
Brooding is an art that Photoshop embellished for the truly Avant-garde;
If any of this applies to you, you've been doomed right from the start.
Thought that the 'rhetoric is old' bit and the following two or three lines was a bit contrived, but this was otherwise a solid ending to a solid verse.


Commendable job of staying very focused for a lot of lines. The content was fresh throughout, and while I always prefer to read your newer stuff I get that each verse is a labor itself for you. Like the guy that rolls the best J he can, and nurses it as it gets passed around the room, tryna make sure that everyone gets good hits and that his roll job stays together. Crafted. Genuinely cares about what others think of his work, which is a great, underrated quality as a writer. The guy who does it for others, not just himself.

Great verse, Pent.

[oats]

all right all right, here I am. sorry I took so long yadda yadda, I'll get into it now.


Flickering hues lit all the room: their faces and walls.
They complacently call eachother names like 'babe' that evolved
throughout the years, loud and clear, from the faith they installed
escaping the faults that's made them elated, enthralled,
entangled and caught. They're so close - in separated realms.
Thumbs thumbing the screen - drum thumping machines messaging their friends.
No leverage to their heads: they're glued like Texans to their pelt -
connected in themselves through a cybernetically embedded
skeleton and shell electrically developed between the screen and their eye.
He's feeling sublime, on the couch, reading the lies -
completely online with the The Onion, Wikimedia, Chive.
Their only hope is he notices when she stretches her cheeks in a smile.

this was a near-flawless section of writing, in my opinion. the rhyme schemes, how you switched up flow patterns, all of it rolled off effortlessly. This is exemplary of showing us a situation instead of falling back on exposition to make it coherent; I can't imagine anyone having difficulty figuring out what the story is about now, but you were coherent by using descriptive details. This is an enviable chunk of writing. The only hiccup for me was the Texans to their pelt line, didn't quite understand what that meant. Skeleton and shell was an excellent description, though.


'Fuzzies' are made from the seat to his side: she's on the love-seat adjacent.
By herself, trying to buy herself scrunchies and bracelets.
Munching on Lay chips - drowning their puppy's engagement
with the crunch that they're making. Neither drunk nor complacent,
just stuck in the stages between ready to squab and getting along.
A connection is lost - closest they come is petting the dog.
Friends and their job are never questioned a lot
but scenarios of settling are apprehensively thought.
The consensus is not spoken of - consider it sacred -
Tablets zip-tying faces until lips are strung by the digital matrix.
Pixels equate with pleading the fifth in arraignments:
and their eyes are drawn with a hint of dumb blankness.

I didn't like the first half of this to be honest. It wasn't bad, really, just a noticeable drop off from the above section. But even as a standalone stanza, I thought there were some misfires. Before I extolled your use of details and lack of exposition, but here those details assumed that I knew their relationship a bit too much. I don't think that was a conscious decision by you, but it's how it came off to me. "Fuzzies are made" didn't hit home with any meaning for me, and was she trying to buy scrunchies and bracelets off the internet? I def understand the female mind for online shopping, but not for those kinds of items. Maybe I'm missing something.

Puppy's engagement and drunk nor complacent also struck me as a bit awkward. I pictured the crunching of chips to drown out a puppy humping one of their legs or something, and while I like the implications of contrasting drunkenness and complacency, the line didn't seem to fit with the character of the piece: that kind of line lends itself towards alcoholism/binge party drinking in my mind, whereas the humdrum scene you depicted called for something a bit more subtle and...adult? If that makes sense. Like sipping a craft beer or some wine or something. Obviously these are my associations that I'm reading the verse with, just saying.

I can't decide if I like the ready to squab line. It's a funny bit of wordplay, and it definitely works since my first read of it I immediately anchored an unrelated meaning to the word "squab." So yeah, I guess I like it, it's a skillful way to undermine language. But that bottom half was more excellence, peering into the world of fake/real relationships. They're behaving just like a normal couple, only they've never met (I'm assuming) in real life. It's half romantic, half pathetic, but really what relationship isn't, to some degree. I really love the parallels you present.


Their principles make it and the tribulations harder than war.
Locked in their corners - their bodies are corpses - this the modern rapport.
Said to be lovers but dead to eachother through hearts they adore:
they're starving for more on the ground obstacle floor.
As problems are formed they progress their connection to the glow -
The rhetoric is old - one that everybody knows:
The further they're getting in their home, the more pressure on their souls.
Lessening control until everything goes to hell and it explodes.
Love assembled by the oafs - setting it in stone and ruining their hearts.
Visualized, digitized, minimized and consuming all the charge.
Brooding is an art that Photoshop embellished for the truly Avant-garde;
If any of this applies to you, you've been doomed right from the start.

I don't know what "their principles" are, but I love that couplet anyway. Bodies as corpses, in certain contexts will be undeniably cliche, but here it has a novel ring to it, just fits better. Harder than war seems a bit melodramatic, though. I like how you step back to survey the scene here, it allows you to freely explore the greater implications, even if in one line like the "pressure on their souls" line. That really seems to be the nexus of most online relationships; people are too old and too busy to meet someone in a conventional way. Didn't like the "hell and it explodes" rhyme, seemed like it was there just to carry the scheme.

I didn't like the way this piece ended. You spent so much time peering into the lives of these characters, and the end felt like a copout by turning the camera on the audience. I can see how, on a conceptual level, it might work, like a ZAP! THESE PEOPLE MIGHT BE YOU! kind of thing. But even then, not my cup of tea, and regardless I don't think it was executed well enough to be successful at that gambit either. How I feel - and keep in mind, every interpretation I make comes with the caveat that I could have completely misread it - is that this was trying to squeeze in that technology metaphor a bit too hard, instead of letting it organically take shape through the online interaction/development of their relationship. You did well to make me care about their situation - so well, in fact, that I'm a little annoyed that you left me in the cold and brought me into the picture instead of giving me a final glimpse. I can't help but think that this could be DOPE if you panned out with some kind of implicit piece of dialogue. I'm thinking how Steinbeck would finish the emotional crescendos with some trivial comment like "what the hell was that?" I don't know.

Overall, this was a superb piece of writing for about 2/3-3/4, the remainder being good but not great. As you can probably tell, my biggest gripe is the ending. Dope shit, and sincere apologies that I took so long to get to this. I'm a distracted motherfucker.