/crit/ -- Critique Thread

I like this a lot overall. The thing I notice mist that could be worked on is replacing specific wprds that seem to me to be cliche/generic/nonspecific. You can use my suggestions or not, but just to give you an idea of what I mean, coupd the word obscure be clarified to give a more specific feeling by substituting the word veiled/shrouded/clouded or perhaps unkown/unkowable? Could the word harmonic be made to sound more interesting or unique by saying "one accidental and unison moment" instead? This is just what came to my mind

Muertos ya demonios del pasado, muerde pena bajo la tierra.
No más esclavo de la ceguera, dobla roca y pisa piedra.
Lo que una vez fue cielo, ahora no es mas que la alfombra de sus intenciones.
Y aunque existan mejores costumbres, viejas y por conocer, es mejor que mil perdones, siempre y cuando no sean ganados por mérito propio.
¿A quién le va a pedir perdón cuando se muera lo que no importa?
Afortunadamente, logrará quemar su piel en una hoguera y mirará las estrellas con el mismo ansia con el que mira su futuro.
Mejor es saber, dicen muchos. Pero mejor aún es aprender, saben pocos.
Labrando la tierra de sus frágiles huesos podrá mantener su carne limpia.
Sin embargo, a veces es mejor escuchar a los vocablos de los viejos dioses:
"Encontráos en su propio espíritu, haced de la paz una paz propia.
Pero no os olvidéis de la batalla: ahí es donde los hombres sangrarán sus penas."

Another text:

Oscuridad y poco más.
Un profundo y fuerte aullido seguido por otros de menor volumen marcan el inicio del combate.
Sus dedos se aferran a sus piernas, sus fosas nasales se ensanchan y su corazón comienza a nutrir su sed de sangre.
El miedo le hace temblar las rodillas, agita su respiración e intenta destruir su moral, pero no lo logra.
Palmas abiertas y puños cerrados se combinan con golpeteos y aullidos de su propia boca. Y el miedo se da por vencido y desaparece.
La oscuridad lo marea, lo hace ver cosas que no están y le abre unas pequeñas puertas de luz, tentádolo a escaparse con una sonrisa cruel, pero no lo logra.
Se yergue, alza sus brazos y respira hondo; la oscuridad ya no es una barrera.

La horda se acerca a una velocidad demoledora, y lo rodea. El Gran Jefe clava la vista en los ojos de su presa.
"Ésto es sólo una batalla" dice el aprendiz para sus adentros, "la guerra es contra mí mismo. Y no pienso perderla." Sin decirse nada más, se lanza hacia su primera muerte.

Last one:

No hay mas que polvo a la vista. Ni siquiera logra verse un río, un valle, una colina...
Los Vientos del Este lo han borrado todo. Todos los pueblos que habitaron el Yermo Negro han sido azotados sin piedad, y no han tenido otra opción más que perecer, incomunicados y privados de agua y alimento.
Ocasionalmente, pueden verse mercaderes que se ven obligados a cruzar el despiadado desierto con sus caravanas o ejércitos extranjeros, que, aunque acostumbrados a luchar y marchar en zonas áridas, sufren la ira del Viento.
Sin embargo, quien es mayormente reconocido por los viajeros del Yermo es el mercader Namat el Enano.
Su piel curtida y oscura da indicios de cuanto tiempo pasa deambulando el cruel desierto. Nadie sabe que vende realmente, y quienes se atreven a preguntarlo no logran describir la extravagante mercancía del viejo.
Algunos especulan que vende hierbas y frutas usadas para la alquimia y la magia, otros dicen que lo que vende no puede verse, sino oírse: historias, secretos, fábulas y cuentos de los pueblos que habitaron allí. Muchos dicen que es un viejo estafador y bueno para nada, que vende baratijas falsas (y encima a precios ridículamente altos), y que camina a través del páramo sólo para hacerse fama.
La verdad es que nadie sabe la historia de Namat el Enano. Los viajeros más veteranos no recuerdan haberlo visto en sus años jóvenes.
Gente más supersticiosa cree que es un brujo, un ex habitante del Yermo Negro que se rehúsa a abandonar su hogar, o que en realidad es el emperador Bakhán el Grande, que unificó los pueblos bajo su espada, lengua y moneda, todo con implacable gracia y astucia, alcanzando una época dorada en su gestión, sólo para verla derrumbarse en un instante bajo el poder del Este.

Aunque son incapaces de describir los objetos que porta Namat, quienes han hablado con él sostienen que los pueblos del Yermo no han muerto, pero perecerán al mismo tiempo que el viejo mercader.
Si es que la muerte osa enfrentarse a Namat sin compañía.

I walked through the door with you, the air was cold,
But something bout it felt like home somehow and I
Left my scarf there at your sister's house,
And you still got it in your drawer even now.

Oh, your sweet disposition and my wide-eyed gaze.
We're singing in the car, getting lost upstate.
The Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place,
And I can picture it after all these days.

And I know it's long gone,
And that magic's not here no more,
And I might be okay,
But I'm not fine at all.

'Cause there we are again on that little town street.
You almost ran the red 'cause you were looking over me.
Wind in my hair, I was there, I remember it all too well.

Photo album on the counter, your cheeks were turning red.
You used to be a little kid with glasses in a twin-size bed
And your mother's telling stories about you on a tee ball team
You tell me bout your past, thinking your future was me.

And I know it's long gone
And there was nothing else I could do
And I forget about you long enough
To forget why I needed to

'Cause there we are again in the middle of the night.
Dancing round the kitchen in the refrigerator light
Down the stairs, I was there, I remember it all too well

I've started writing shitty "tumblr girl" poetry that will hopefully become popular with young women. Any tips on how to make it even more self-congratulatory and smug? I'll probably photoshop them in some pics I took like pic related, to make it more digestible.
Wrote this an hour ago:
And now you're here again.

Cafe's still the same old, though.
Same old folks who've seen us kiss,
And made me blush and shy away.
My gaze is there but not as warm.

You're just as cool and just as calm
Yet just as easy to be pleased
By smiles you never knew were false.
So very easy to appease.

Mistook today for weeks ago;
Mistook my pockets for your own;
"Love you" for a "glad we met";
Unseen tears for drops of sweat.

I still burn bright the same old glow,
Although,
Although,
All on my own.
I light and puff and greet the dawn
Although,
Alone,
At last:

Alone.

Here is my flash fiction story. Please comment.

pastebin.com/SF7x5mCs

I'll (You) this message with my comments on some of the stuff already posted.

I think you're more advanced and have a lot more talent than most I've seen on this site. As has already been said your dialogue is stellar and along with your descriptions, wonderfully suggestive. With very few words you manage to create the impression of an entirely new science-fiction universe. It's also fast-paced and epic and you seem very enthusiastic and stubborn. You could go places, I think.

With that said, I only read a small part of it. Maybe I'm not taking your story seriously enough to give it the attention it deserves or maybe this is just too technical and "hardcore" for my tastes, but I'm basically unable to follow what is going on. It's easy to overestimate the reader, especially with complex genre fiction, so my suggestion would be to spell things more clearly out. I also feel maybe the human encounters are a bit cold. I miss the little quirks of personality and I can't remember a single description of someone's appearance.

I believe your story is written in 3rd person omnipotent? This is very unusual in modern genre fiction actually. Usually, even sticking to third person, writers will pick a "viewpoint character" whose personality colors the prose, even when describing a battle (for example they could be looking out through a window). I think this would instantly add a lot of emotional color and life to your writing.

I suggest looking up books and guides to writing good genre fiction, if you haven't already. There is a lot of meat and potatoes "craft" involved in doing it well that you just have to know and practice.

This reminds me a little of Murakami, which is a good thing if you ask me. You have some language that sounds kind of awkward though, like "I had that airport kind of feeling" rather than for example, "I had that feeling you sometimes have at airports" or something more fluent and complete like that. You probably just need to write and read more to iron out those. Maybe you're not a native speaker? I also wonder if you're aware of everything your style suggests about the first-person character, for example the technical and alienated way in which they view shampoo bottles. In a more complete, fully satisfying text I think you would need to find some way to make this play into the whole.

This is my story Please comment.

Really effective at creating an uncomfortable feeling, I like it.

Mine:

In a grey mountain land, searching for God,
I happened on a cave, toothy and cold.
Shouting, anguished, within. I turned to my guide,
facing somber dissent. Heedless, I entered.
Where the small den halted, bleak light fell through the rock,
on a thin brackish pool, in which a figure lay.
That tormented wraith writhed, bones in black water,
endless life lamenting— one it could not take.
An ending I offered, a fool's pity.
It shrank from me in fear— by this I left.

Returning to the guide, I bid us continue the search.
Met with my ignorance, their gaze sought the ground in dismay.