Sometimes a small pneumatic combustion cannon is the right tool for the job. At least when the job is spraying blood and gore into a fine mist, anyways.
Prophet of Hate
Memphis, Murder Capital
Joined on 10/28/00
Still on "pregnant pause":
Don't sweat it. Many great poets and authors have strange diction.
Walt Whitman made up words; Emily Dickinson often wrote in illegible fragments.
You're an effin bastard.
In my personal relationships, you can always tell who's close to me because the language we use together gets to be damn near unintelligible. I use fragments of songs in place of actual sentences, slap prefixes and suffixes any old place, and pronounce certain words with caricaturized inflection.
Basically, almost like a private foreign language.
I just recently found out my southern accent SCREAMS through my word choice, because funny-ass long contractions make perfect sense in my head.
So yeah, I know my head's all fucked up and I have awkward word selection. I swear to God I didn't invent "pregnant pause" though. I know I picked it up from somewhere.
I'm real weird with the way author's write; I've always presumed that writing is the most closely related form of language to thought. The real question is what does using phrases like "pregnant pause" mean about me? That I'm into preggo pr0n?
Well, not hardcore, anyways. But I do to some extent like my chicks maternal. Ain't nuttin moar hetro than that.
Ooh, and 17 should be up later today.
The way you write is clear to me, pregnant pause made perfect sense. Maybe it's because I'm southern. or crazy. or both.
This chapter kinda reminded me of the mob. Like, the witches have a mafia.
That'd be sweet. People decked out in gothic clothes holding semi automatics in dark tinted limmos.