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Guest The Writer's Son

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Guest The Writer's Son

As an exceedingly few of you may know, I am the inventor of a language, more of a dialect really but a language nonetheless. The language in question is, what I refer to as PlaySpeak; it's used for two reasons: 1- to make the story sound much, much older than it actually is, and 2- to make anything and everything that a character says seem more charismatic and imtelligent. Here is an example from my apocalyptic short story James' Adventure, detailing the exact nature of PlaySpeak and how the dialect is used:

“Bloody whore,” Sir Isaac said whapping the Venus again. She bawed like a young child, as he whapped her again; suddenly, he stopped. The higher-up priest entered, his arms folded within the catacombs of his robe.

“Sir Isaac,” he said calmly. “You may depart. The heretic shall live her days with the mark.” Sir Isaac grinned ruthishly, pulling forth a searing hot mark. Suddenly a daliant sword pieced the air, knocking the mark free. A Saturn in divinn cloth swooped down and plicked her away.

“Red Velvet,” Sir Isaac whispered, as though the name was written on the wing of a moth. Red Velvet, the name of a right-doer who would foil the plots of Archbishop Michael Pennyweather. I don’t claim to know the lovable rapscallion who exposes the wicked and rights the wrongs of others, but he’s closer than you think dear readers.

As you can see, many symonyms are used, as well as invented words. Now, I know that this sounds like homework and that's the last thing that anyone would want over summer, but I'd like to see someone utilize PlaySpeak in some way, whether it be character speech or the entire book. I allow any and all challengers to use it in whatever genre they decide to use. However, in order for PlaySpeak to funtion (as evidenced by the DiCaprio Romeo and Juilet set in modern times) the time must be within the 19th or early 20th century, but no later than December 31, 1929; I look forward to seeing what you do with my creation, and I'm also interested in any sort of PalySpeak erotica (no gay porn [lesbian's fine], piss/shit, and/or genital torture; that's where I draw the line). Also, feel free to test out another, more artistic form of writing I invented, Articulated Poetic Intrigue Mentally, or A.P.I.M. for short. APIM is essentially a random collected assortment of poetic, essentially worthless, sentences and lines arranged to have no linearity or coherence to it, allowing readers to make interpretations on a deeper, philosophical level, such as:

Stop the troll, stop the inbred degenerate slime-covered hogs which fucked the cherry blossoms of virgin mothers and caulimantis abounds. The trips go on like a horse watching a giraffe in society’s evolution. Sometime the times just change too fast for that of a learned man, cultured and beauty within a pregnant flower, siphoning gasoline to get its own liquor off the cliffs of Harold. I regret nothing to what I’ve done. For you, Sweet Oliver, the time has come for you to comprehend why you became what you are today. A spell of ill cast by Him led through to your parents going. The Witching Hour bears many things of bones and socks and stones and frocks. ‘Tis but a time of fire and oil with which wine if drank of maggots and long-tails that thrive on those of which have spoiled. The blood of bold leaks into earth and to the thirsting demons of It, who thrive to torture and cause pain.

Feel free to interpret that paragraph as you will. You may choose either challenge, so long as you include a link to an emaple of either or both.

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Guest Chris Cross

Is this good APIM? I had to pull insperation from somewhere, but I tried to mix it up in choppy segments to allow for re interpretation. It started as a thing about a friend of mine, but now it looks more like a fairy tale. I'm still getting the hang of it

I'm also working on a Civil War PlaySpeak.

The widowpane is rattling. The mirror is broken, trust is broken, hearts are broken. Snow falls heavy outside, like a thick quilt. Leather armor rustles, the leather amour brushes close. I want her, but shall not have her, she is for another bound. The pain, always. She shall be born plain. The fear, always. But her inner beauty will grow. The bitch took my heart, and now I would claim hers. My Fairest. LIES!!! There will never be another like you. TRETCHERY!!! You see your first power, to endure the storm. Filthy swine. RUN!!! Muck and mud and life blood coat perfect hands. The dress is torn, rags now. OH! Your face is scratched. God no! Tears swell your eyes. A wrinkle? Battered and torn. Smooth it out. Out of the fry pan and into fire. A spot? Take only what you need. Wipe it up. Be kind and good. We must be clean. Fairness is from within. Cleanliness is next to godliness. Pretty is from without. I shall be a Goddess! And Pretty sours quickly into Petty. All shall worship me. Judge not the book by it's cover, but the cover is there for a reason. The filth, it lives, it persists. Danger is everywhere! It must die. Can you see patterns form in the snow on the windowpane? Those who harbor the filth must die. They look like broken glass. I rolled the dice and lost iot all. Seven years bad luck. I rolled my eyes and they came up five and two. A bitter victory. A broken bit of glass. Waiting in glass. It shines. The end comes soon. The light reveals my face. But is it a happy one? My horrid twisted face. This is up to you. I shatter. It always was. Like the mirror.

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