Tilted Compilation Book - Submissions
 

Alrighty for all those that are interested in contributing to the Tilted Compilation Book here is the thread for your pieces. They can be original or an earlier piece you or someone else has done on the board (if they are happy with it being submitted. There will be no voting, rather pieces will be selected on the amount of feedback they get, length and probably short straws if it comes to that :) I don't want people to feel like they're being judged, that is not the case - its just a question of maintaing a flow and atmosphere to the book so the poems/stories work collectively as well as individually.

For details on the publishing process have a look at http://www.lulu.com

Submission Guidelines:
1) Length - 1000 words or less, given the book will be standard novel size (6x9) - that works out to about 4 pages. Book length will probably be about 60 - 80 pages.
2) Language - Generally english please, other languages can be used in otherwise english works. Although this is open to debate - I don't wanna exclude people.
3) Profanity - Colourful language is fine of course, as long theres other words too! :D
4) Finally, the usual copyright bollocks, don't get me sued!

Oh yeah, have fun!
This a new thing we're doing...ever heard of any other forum getting together and making a book? :)

Here's mine. How many should we submit? I think we should only submit our own, ti save any trouble...

Cause

Perception of loss calls out to me,
By seeking I know I will find.

Distress is the comfort I've come to know,
Leaving kind thoughts far behind.

Unsuitable thorns twist till they bleed,
Atrocious reflections stirred round.

Infernal damnation is it what I've found,
Or fantasy's ugly kid brother?

Cause becomes clear closing my eyes,
Benevolence tries to break through.

Abhorrence runs trying to hide,
Seeking reprieve from the light.

Beatific jousts with the vile one,
Which will it be to advance?

Both will survive, the stronger of which,
Is nurtured and fed in our mind.

Inasmuchas I tried to lift, the car off of my foot, I wanted you to see the things that made me wail in pain. The car was just a metaphor for troubles that were brought, upon myself for thinking things, and things I had'nt got. I wanted to see clearly thoughts of things that I could gain, and wanting them and thinking of ,these things that cause me pain. Inaword or two I seem, to say things I don't mean, In writing down the words I feel, it helps me to come clean. Yesterday to me it seems, is fading to history, Tommorow is alive and well, I know cause now came just the same.Today is but the time I have, to ponder thoughts of life, the things I know that cause me all this worthless angry strife. Joyfullness and happy times, are coming into view,inasmuchas I recall, the times when I am blue. The tire tracks are etched upon, my twisted broken foot, the troubles are a fleeting now, the blues they are a moot. Singing and a dancing are, a lovely way to live, My heart is a haapy one, because I learned to give. So I think I'll give a smile, and thank you for your driving, cause without my broken foot, my life would not be thriving. The tracks and tread upon me know are things that I can see, they've taught me how to give and take, let live and be free. Wherefore now I want to give, myself unto my brother, I'll try to love and accept the actions of another. Cause is'nt this what this life is truly all about? I know that in the saddest man, love can start to sprout.Thank you for the times they were a truly not a wasted,and thank you for the beauty of, the you that I have tasted

If I had a stone and kept it,
I'd have a stone to see,
If I had a stone and threw it,
A memory it would be.

To have things and to keep them,
tis true we hold on tight,
To find the joy in giving,
It makes my heart shine bright.

A stones throw from another,
We sometimes can forget,
The beauty of a smile,
A friend we havent met.

A hand extended to someone,
Can help them out indeed,
The love expressed through open arms,
The planting of a seed.

Sticks and stones are tough sometimes,
But words are stronger still,
A kind word shared today perhaps,
May help a heart to heal.

What a beautiful sunset, my girl said to me,
As I watched my light slip away.
Grinning outside, as inside I weep,
The glow was my days one last hope.
Smelling the gloom of lightlessness cover,
Eyes shrieking as they dilate.
The moon burns the sun, Tis blood that I see,
As mountains gulp down the sweet nectar.
Climbing the ladder, of yesterdays woes,
I think of the radiance and smile.
Tomorrow will come, I cannot run,
The primer was lit long ago.
For now I’ll just hide, let light shine inside,
Believing is what comes to haunt me.

The best

Cowering in the corner his hands shield his head
As dishes and words are hurled ‘round.

Frightened and sad as all that he knows
Rips and tears at each other letting pain grow.

Anger is born leading the way to tomorrow
Learning the way of his short life today.

Watching and seeing is what he becomes
We’ve taught him the way of his world.

As seasons pass he grows to hate life
We wonder we he got it from.

We sure did our best we mumble quite softly
As we bail him out one more time.

Another child born when will we learn
The cycle can end within us.

What will we do this time around
Let our best be the best we can do?

Or learn different ways to treat other life’s
As we lay his short one to rest.

Submit as many as you like. You're right about the submit your own thing. Works out best.

Nice work btw :thumbsup:
I found the last one quite powerful.

T H E G I R L W H O C O U L D N ' T F L Y

I

Summer's dreams still born before they've even begun;
Becky just wanted to be loved by everyone.
Lurching through the hysteria of sleep each night
She made the mistake that any of us might.

Dancing alone in her room, to her own CD;
How come she's a size eight and she's still so lonely?
Choking sobs into her pillow; but no one sees
Such apathetic pleading and apologies.

Forcing down cheap vodka, reading about the stars,
Lying flat on her stomach, listening to cars
Speed past her window. How many cars till she knew
She couldn't ever become somebody like you?

II

A wicked tide picking at her soul every day,
She knew she needed help, but didn't know what to say.
Even if we'd have seen how it would end, who would
Have helped her mould her life into the shape it should
Have been?

Pressing herself against the rain streaked glass, her eyes
Bleeding mascara; broken heart, desperate for lies.
Living a death sentence: culture, remorse, fear. She
Feels like the insides of a broken clock when the
Rust sets in.

Which sad songs, and sadder books, played in her head?
It's so hard to take, that she wanted to be dead.
She put on a new skirt and top before she went,
And painted every finger nail a different
Colour.

III

Her Dad found her empty room, her stuff was all there;
Her tarty skirts and clever books; there was nowhere
She could have gone. No friends or boys or anything.
They didn't know what to do, or who they should ring.

They told us in assembly, a week after we
Already knew. Her teacher kept telling us she
Felt so guilty, and that we'd miss Becky so much.
Some of the girls cried anyway. No one talked much.

Her parents moved away not very long after.
Kids from our year made up ghost stories about her.
Once, when they were drunk, they tried spelling out her name
With a ouija board; but no reply ever came.

IV

Walking through wet grass in toeless shoes, she thought how
The life she had wanted was in tatters, how
No one could hold on to her - make her feel all right.
The paper stained with tears, the note she left that night
Said it all.

When she stood there; praying for something to hold her back
Gravity proved stronger, what should have held her back
Abandoned her. In that dark, her eyes must have seen
Such intense sadness, where a river should have been
Instead.

I sometimes cross her bridge. The water that took her
Looks too bright, and I feel too little. They found her
All messed up by fish, two miles further downstream.
It's so sad to watch the beer cans dance in that clean
Brittle water.

V

And I drank alcopops, and smoked with younger girls
While the mess of hate and pain and missing out swirled
Round and round her head. I write her name on my hand;
But she's dead, how can I pretend to understand
What she felt?

I'll be in aussie for a week from tomorrow and hopefully doing more wave surfing than net surfing, so I'll be back in a week to look over the submissions and get the ball rolling on the book, go hard people! :)

Knaw I don't think I could submitt any myself. Doesn't feel right. Just to let you know.

Asta!!

Oh yeah, if you wanna get in contact with me then drop me a line on: tiltedbook@gmail.com

Into the room
 

Sorry took down my contribution for now,
I didn't realize when I first posted that this was not an actual TFP project.
not comfortable contributing right now sorry.
good idea and all

Strange and Chauncey, those are really good. The book is going tro be great, I am submitting a few, some one else will have to decide which one of mine oges in it :)
Here is another

Abstract thoughts dull my keen senses
My perception is just an illusion
Seeking existence of fantasy’s dorm
Floating in space am I here
Opening doors with nothing behind
Where in the world will I find
Time is the place were I’ve left my mind
Real is that that that is in it
Gone are the wishes of souls left behind
Here is the term and the place
Lucid am I for here I am now
At least that’s what I think I see

The dreary dark and gloomy state
Is where my heart is from
The sunny warm and happy place
Is where it wants to run
A glimpse of what it could be like
Is all it took to yearn
Finding what I need for me
Is what I'd like to learn
The wonder of a happy life
Seems oh so strange to me
Holding hands and chasing bees
I've had a slice of free
An apple every day is nice
Why can't I have the pie
The love embedded in those eyes
I think a while and sigh

Those are awesome people, I'm really looking forward to doing this book. Keep them coming!

Are you aware that this is using my copyright without my permission?

Who wa? Who did?

You can't use the name "Tilted Compilation Book" without his permission as he owns the rights to the Tilted name...it being his website and all. Thats what he's saying.

Asta!!

Ah ok, I didn't realise it was copyrighted. I'll send you an email regarding the matter once I get back into NZ.

*Bump*
Anyone still interested in this?
Cuz I'll contact Halx about copyright, get the ball rolling on other things..etc

Yes, if it's feasible

I don't know if enough people are intereste...I should really get the other creative forums involved, make it mixed media.

I never said I'm not interested I just said I don't feel right submitting work myself. If someone else thinks my work is good they can reccomend it. Publishers publish writers that they think are good usually at first and hope they continue to write good. Doesn't seem like thats whats going on here though it seems more like a journal. Everyone adds their own favorites and then you gather them up and have them published...I can see why you chose to do it that way though. If no ones picking anyone then no one feels left out if they aren't picked and this doesn't turn into a competition which I think is good but again I don't feel right picking my own work for showcase..which is probably why not too many people seem interested in it. They might share my sentiment. I'll PM you an idea that may work on getting more submissions if you wish just let me know here or you can PM me.

Asta!!

Yeah sure I'm all ears

You are very welcome to compile my posts on the topic of why Blue Öyster Cult is the best band of all time, and any of my posts in the Evil Thread in nonsense. Also any of my Beer Recipes, or, indeed, anything I have posted to Tilted Cooking.

You are equally welcome to tell me to do it my damn self and post them here.