#polyptoton

[lngcoalh61bz]

Lesbian Pussy tribing & humping //full vid on OF Nice chick dominates boy with her feet whilst jerking him off SOY MUJER MADURA, Y FOLLANDO CON MI rican mami anii gets pussy slow stroked by bbc Brutal amateur bondage and humiliation of slave Louise Red in homemade bdsm and crying masochist punishment of kinky brunette tied and punished Lesbian Linda Sweet and Rebecca Black toyed their assholes Hot sexy Anita bhabi fucking in Bathroom Sultry Tranny Nicolly Pantoja Catches a Peeping Tom and Makes Him Blow Her Wife flashed boobs to stranger, he fucked all here holes, husband films Bajo falda pendeja descuidada

[12colors-classpects]

Every other Thursday is curry night. It starts Monday morning as you make pilgrimage to the grocery-mongers' market and purchase from the first, their finest chicken; from the second, under-ripened tomatoes; the third, onions; the fourth, ghee; and so on in turn, having practiced for years, you navigate a labyrinth of stalls choosing only the best from among the menagerie to add to your motley assortment of ingredients. It takes half the day, but you have your list crossed through.

On Tuesday, you butcher the chicken, let its' blood drain gently, and fillet its' meat. Marinate the good meat yogurt and spices through two nights, while the gris is harrowed into broth. On Thursday then, char the tomatoes, ripe from waiting, and pulp them with freshly ground spices from your garden. Mince your onion, sear your chicken, add the cream and broth, steam your rice, and after four days of preparing for this moment bring the pots out of your kitchen, place them in the center of the table and take your place around its edge beside your curry night companions. Fill your bowls with rice and load your rice with curry. Shovel the first biteful onto your tongue, and bask in the taste of

Zest

Narrative Function

Zest is, primarily, the aspect of catharsis. Catharsis is a feeling of satisfaction experienced by a reader upon the satisfying release of narrative tension, and that tension and release cycle is the spice of stories, is which burns at the mind-tongue and keeps a reader hooked into engaging with the narrative.

As a secondary function, Zest also embodies the rhetorical flowers: alliteration, polyptoton, epanelepis, zeugma, rhyme, etc: these are language patterns that when used well, make the language used to tell the story more appealing, engaging, and memorable. They flavor narrative with small doses of poetic flourish.

And, as a tertiary function, Zest can also be the aspect of raunch, in stories with a citrus index above orange: after all, citrus fruits are much more well known for their zest than spicy peppers.

Player Tendencies

Zest players, are characters whose design best facilitates narrative catharsis, meaning either that their personal beliefs about justice and the way the world should function regularly butting against an unjust world happy to provide tension for them to release by punching an asshole really good in the face, or that they embody Zest to a lesser extent by being a comic relief character.

Powers

Literal: Control over Chili Peppers and Citrus Fruits Metaphorical: Catharsis, Rhetorical Flowers Rational: Fire, Heat Irrational: Lightning, Bad Jokes

[woestruckalex]

i anaphora on your polyptoton until you chiasmus

[sultrybaby]

imagery juxtaposition polyptoton epizeuxis tautology asyndeton polysyndeton diacope proxy AHHH ISTG I AM SO DONE W ALL THIS STUFF AFDFKDSHKJDHKD

[writingwithstyle]

agenda, 01.29

for today

in-class writing: key term review [Drive]

review exercise one

review exercise two

short sentences [slide deck]

for next time

read: Forsyth, "Alliteration," 9-16; "Polyptoton," 17-22; "Antithesis," 23-27; "Chiasmus, 146-53

read: Orwell, “Why I Write” [Drive]

In Forsyth we will be learning alliteration, polyptoton, antithesis, and chiasmus. We will cut our teeth on rhetorical figures with these four classics. They are a shit ton of fun and they place with both volume, frequency and rhythm. We are reading Orwell as a model for the "Why I Write" essay, which is our first major writing assignment. Look for what Orwell covers (what is important to his writing) and how he goes about articulating it (what attitudes, what emphases).

[suevincent]

The answer to all of your questions ~ Kerfe Roig #writephoto it is not forever not everlasting neither early nor late– it is not never not now Continue reading at  K- Lines that Aim to Be

[brudberg1]

Once as sunbeam

Once as sunbeam, bright she shone; embrightend those around, until the day she met the lover-nemesis the man who burnt her heart.

He stole delight and light, to flame her veins with ice, and as slave enslaved she barefoot strolled around on glass, while he lit his fuse to burst.

Her brittle soul embrittled by his fists and rough rebuke shattered, broke and spread its leaflike wings to leave what…

[diedieri]

Promptis Prompt(o)

I asked few a few prompt(os) and @thedarkrose17​ requested promptis at an arcade Just a little ficlet so I don’t know if I’ll post to ao3, but for now, here it is. Please enjoy 

Game recognizes game. Prompto smiled, he didn’t see any game here. Noctis was a champion Kings Night, a level five player, but he was an absolute plebe at the crane machine and a fawn on fresh legs at spider stomp.

 “Oh, oh!” Prompto held onto Noctis shoulder, the crane was losing his grip! Hold on, hold on—and it fell. Prompto laughed and Noctis scowled. The adventure at the arcade had become less venture and more add another 30 gil to my game card please. Prompto hadn’t played in thirty minutes. He had Noctis’ back. He was patient and enthusiastic. But Noctis’ frustration wasn’t fair. The high of going out after school was steadily crashing.

 “Hey it’s okay,”

 “I said I can get it.” Noctis cut him off. He never meant to snap. He was never instantly apologetic, and the regret came hours later once his head had cooled. He shunned any advice and drew his shoulders up high. Each turn was over, sooner than the last.

 “Come on!” He pushed the machine.

 Prompto longed for longer hours with Noctis, his free time was sparce. It made Prompto feel expensive. Not from the dozens of gil dropped to get the silly chocobo phone charm; it was Noctis pushing off extra hours in tutoring, time and knowledge that would eventually power the future king, was instead spent on him.

 “Let’s go back to ski ball.” The chocobo was both crane prize and counter prize. Noctis had gave up on Ski ball after only getting two tickets. Really it should have been one, but the princeling had a firm grip and counted the torn second half of one ticket as two. Noctis suggested they instead be more efficient and play the crane game.

 Efficient and fast; an hour later had gone by in a flash. It was still going as they were empty handed.

 “It’s rigged,” Noctis pocketed his hands.

 Prompto touched his wrist, “Hey. Knock that Noctittude off. It takes practice. Skill.” He walked backwards and into machine.

“Skill. You know,” Prompto stuttered, his tongue suddenly sheepish. He rubbed the back of his head and smoothed out his clothes and popped his school uniform collar up. He paid a gil for the game. The wooden balls fell down the tube in a steady stream. You couldn’t just throw the ball where you wanted it to go, you had to throw for the fall and float. The upper left corner lit up with 10,000 points.

 Prompto’s excitement was not met.

 The bright lit of and LED phone screen lit up Noctis’ face and outshine Prompto’s victory.

 With a tight lip and in a quiet voice Prompto sighed, “right.” He slung a second wooden ball. It fell to the gutter. Noctis didn’t notice that either.

 “Let’s try the money mover.”

 “They glue down the gil, dude. No. Whack a mole.” Prompto hummed a tune from some commercial then pushed Noctis along once he went back for his phone and left the tickets he had won hanging out of the machine. The irritation faded, Noctis hadn’t closed his screen in time and Prompto could see his search page: how to win tickets fast at the Golden Saucer.

 Prompto loaded the gill and slapped the first three moles he could. He was trying, he just was trying in the worse way possible. He wasn’t even participating on the fun games. Prompto scrambled for another two moles, Noctis was un helpful. He manned one hole and,

 “Ow!” Noctis’ snapped out of his daze and looked at Prompto who smacked him again with the rubber mallet.

 “Dude! Stop!” Noctis held up his forearm to shield his head, Prompto bonk’d him in the stomach.

 “I’m going to hate that plush you know.”

 “What?” Noctis snatched Prompto’s mallet and held it hostage, “Why?”

 “You’re being a total,” Prompto didn’t finish that sentence. He and Noctis were close but this was a public space and he was the king’s son. Calling the Crown Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum a douche nozzle didn’t seem PC.

 “Like we haven’t even played house of the dead! Or gone on the dinosaur experience.”

 Noctis who didn’t always think before speaking said, “Those don’t earn tickets.”

 Prompto’s freckles popped under his reddening cheeks. He snatched the mallet and hammered Noctis’ stomach. “Di-no-saurs,” He annunciated with smacks.

 At last, Noctis smiled, his laugh both warm and soft. He smoothed back his hair. “Dinosaurs huh?” It was another shooter game but enclosed in a box meant to be a jeep. He couldn’t whack spiders or stomp moles but he could snipe a raptor. Or a zombie.

 Noctis placed one hand on his stomach and gestured with the other, “Your wish is my command. Let’s go get a dino.”

 Prompto fist pumped and bounded past the flashing games to the corner with a roaring box. He nudged Noctis’ side with his elbow, see, wasn’t this cool?

 “See,” Prompto slid in the left side, then over to the right chair just as Noctis had begun to sit. Prompto pushed Noctis’ hip away before he sat at on him. “Dude. I’m red.”

 Rolling his eyes, Noctis conceded and strolled to the otherside. He hung in the entrance watching Prompto smile. “One sec. My card’s not going to get us through the final level.”

 “Dude. Really?” Prompto kicked his legs like an impatient child. It was a good pout, one he’d been waiting to have. Noctis tapped the hood of the box and went to the counter.

 He slapped two cards on the glass display case, “Fifty gil.”

Yes sir, the attendant turned his back and loaded his customer up. When he returned the cards, purple eyes with an otherworldly glow gunned him down. The eyes looked down, the attendant’s dutifully followed. Between them was another fifty. Cash.

 “What’s the name on the card?” Noctis asked. This was not a card he pulled often. No one forgot who he was, and he did not seek to remind them. His family never asked for kickbacks, favors, or special treatment. But this was an exception. He had fucked up. He missed a moment when Prompto had stopped having fun. Noctis needed to fix it. He needed that damn chocobo.

 “Yes, sir.” The attendant swallowed, Noctis pointed. The man nodded and swapped cash for chocobo.

 Like that, the air of the ancients was gone, “Cool.” Noctis said in an even voice. He returned his credit card to his wallet. That was unnecessary, he could hear his retainers scolding him even in their absence.

 “Prompto.” Noctis sat down heavily and swiped his point card for the first round of credits.

 They hadn’t beaten the game when Noctis’ phone rang, it was the bell calling him home to attend to duties and tasks unknown.

 Prompto tried to keep optimistic, “man. That game is the best.”

 “No,” Noctis twisted and lay an arm over the back of the seat. Prompto’s face fell a moment, it almost made Noctis feel guilty. “But this is.”

 The black chocobo plush, more fluff than stuffing, was pressed to Prompto’s cheek. Noctis even ‘warked’ in a gentle voice.

 “Aw, Nah-“ Prompto’s voice caught as the fluffy-plush-peck was replaced with very real and very, very prince shaped lips. They looked at each other, then away.

 “So,” Prompto stalled, “Walk me home? Do you have time?”

 Noctis didn’t but he smiled, his cheeks a rosy shade that complimented Promoto’s, “of course.”

[naphtha-flash]

zeitmaschine iii ᛫ 2020

me, pointing excitedly: look! the polyptoton!

[fatalism-and-villainy]

ooooh, 1. a-c, 4a and 5 for the poetry meme? :D

I’m gonna take this as including question 1?

1. Your favorite poet of all time

This is hard to answer, because I relate to poetry so much in terms of periodization (due to my training), and what I get out of different poetic forms and eras is so different that it’s hard to pick just one person that embodies all that I enjoy in poetry. I guess purely in terms of stylistics/poetics, it’s a toss-up between John Keats and Gerard Manley Hopkins. Keats’ poetry has a singular aesthetic beauty, lushness, and sensory resonance, while Hopkins has a mastery over the sonic effects of poetry and an ability to reshape the English language that I’ve not seen in anyone else. 

1a. Your favorite 21st century poet

I’m very fussy about contemporary poetry, and Siken is one of the few that I’ve seen tackle the rawness of trauma without turning that into a gimmicky selling point (the way so much identity-based, “confessional” poetry seems to). And he’s very good at blending micro-level events with macro-level affect/consciousness, which is something I love to see in literature. 

1b. Your favorite 20th century poetI’m tempted to say T. S. Eliot, but while I think The Waste Land is a masterful capturing of the modernist consciousness, the rest of his stuff doesn’t quite hold up for me in the same way. I’ll go with Seamus Heaney for this question - I appreciate the visceral nature of the sensory experiences he captures, and the deceptive simplicity of his poetics. 

1c. Your favorite 19th century poetI’m really not a fan of Victorian poetry (Hopkins and Swinburne exempted), so I’ll go with the second gen Romantics. And out of them, it’ll have to be Keats again. (In the context of the era, there’s a lot of interesting discussion to be had about how Keats engages with both the classics and with the typical Romantic poetic persona in a different manner from his contemporaries  - one of my professor talked about Keats’ “aesthetic of substitution,” and how his poetry often glorifies “lesser” imitations or reworkings of great works - see “On First Looking Into Chapman’s Homer,” in which it’s the translation, and not the work itself, that is the subject of awe.)

4a. Your favorite stylistic quirk in your favorite poetShakespearean polyptoton!!! 

“And in fresh numbers number all your graces” (Sonnets 17.6)

“She's Love, she loves, and yet she is not loved” (Venus and Adonis 631)

“Had, having, and in quest to have extreme” (Sonnets 129.10)5. Themes you like to see in poetrysimultaneous human connection and alienation within urban landscapes; the internal conflict between true self-expression and the modulation of the self to publicly recognizable poetic forms; the self-negating quality of desire; seemingly trivial but intensely visually resonant experiences; the thought spirals brought on by being in a negative mental space; the soothing quality of nature - to name a few 

[elucubrare]

god, some day i hope to have the sense of self-possession and security in my writing style to hurt myself the way swinburne hurt himself with these lines: 

Surely no soul is it, sweet as the spasm of erotic emotional exquisite error,         Bathed in the balms of beatified bliss, beatific itself by beatitude's breath.

like yeah, you did it, you exposed yourself completely (weird sex; alliteration; weird religious overtones; the polyptoton with "beatific" & "beatitude"; the specific use of "of" with abstract nouns) and I admire that, but I do not think i could. 

[cbialczak1971]

Autumn Polyptoton Poem, October 24

Autumn Polyptoton Poem, October 24

Autumn Polyptoton Poem 

The leaves crackle as I walk down the walkway 

Watching for small creatures to appear from under the leaves. 

Mist covers my shoulders as the wind wisps through the path. 

No sound other than the crunch of my feet 

Crushing more leaves, leaving only fragments of summer behind.  

[writinginnorthnorfolk]

Passing Rain

The echo of distant rain started to muffle the air and, all too soon, distance was lost to cloud closing in like wet sheep, and sheeting rain that dripped and drummed, persistent and loud on the roof.

The willow in the garden blazed with green moss and elaborate dripping lichen, while I stood dazed at the window in the kitchen, distantly hugging a cup of hot tea, straining to listen as the rain…

[woestruckalex]

polyptoton =/= polysyndeton

[ask-nightvales-voice]

Love is a shambling thing.

A frightening thing.

A deeply fascinating thing.

(this segment sounded like a prose poem)

[rustedskyprisms]

I’m going to write a children’s book about the adventures of Polygon, Polyptoton, and Polypeptide