I am consumed by time

[byneothr]

I am consumed by time or now or some such thing that grew me when I was young and now diminishes what it is I am become. At every turning
I endeavor to dis-remember I am not forever, ignoring the contrariwise occurrences occurring to my mind, body…soul? Yes, yes, I am not
forever, I grow old, but in the ever I inhabit I play at immortality (don't we?). How easy to forget, to rid ourselves of prophetic notions when
surrounded by devotions of our kind; family, friend, stranger. Not in the hurriedness of day is there time to re-remember the the lessening. It
is during the all alone times, when sleep eludes endeavor, when that voice voices the thought I most wish gone, the time when the ticking of
finality reminds me I am much less than I show. Though it may seem counter wise, that is the time I seek escape into the black.

I know no god, but pray to black. Take me, take me back to the time, the now, the whatever it was before. Reabsorb the six; sight, sound,
smell, taste, feel, mind. Take back the heartache, the un-natural shocks, take away the un-kindnesses done. Take back the thousand and one
other sorrows experienced, day by night and day again. End the hopeless parade of lost.

I know of supernatural brokers who claim that I, myself, am the cause of tragedy. They impose a hex of universal guilt and blame. They play
their cards and I almost believe. I accept that I am guilty as I was not born knowing. If I am guided by misplaced ignorance, I will submit to a
justified penance. But I am rendered justice by some unknowable cosmic scale, by which I must completely fail. The judgment concludes that I
will never be divine enough. I am adjudged too human.

Blackness that has no name, swallow me whole and perform the rites of annihilation. No heavenly reward, no hell-fire conflagration, just the
black that was before. I place my hands upon my chest, close my eyes in almost rest, and I am ready. Ready as I will never be in the tragedy
of my everyday. Where I face the day with the face I prepare, not carefully, but with habit.

the candle flickers
the wall does not record them
shadows are playing

[mythicalnaenia]

Hi byneothr,

I really enjoyed your first section of prose, I think the language used formed some beautifully complex ideas. However, it seems that the other four sections are rather tangent-ed and disjointed to the initial presentation. The opening line sets the tone and is very effective but I feel you lost the theme or initial portrayal as the piece progressed. Maybe go into more depth on the front of the "black"-ness and where this interlinks with the manifestation of time. I also noticed at some points you need to go through and check your piece for example you have "the the" on the fourth line and at some points small words appear to be missing leading the sentence to not quite make sense as a result.

Overall, I really love the piece but I felt like I was reading two different prose. Your language is emotive and descriptive but the transition from the initial theme into the consuming black that strikes the turmoil of the rest of the prose is a little bit too vague.
Remember as a piece of prose you can afford to expand your ideas, you dont necessarily have to limit your descriptions as some of your surface metaphors are intricate and confusing.

All the best with this wonderful piece,
Naenia