Blog Home
View All Posts
Writing Example
EGREGIOUS — Writing Example [PLEASE CREDIT ME IF YOU POST THIS AHYWHERE]
— Egregious —
'A prismatic vision of morbid obsessional starvation; light coral, orange-red, tart, red, scarlet, vermillion, crimson, amaranth red, rosso corsa, rufous, ruby red, pillarbox, carmine, wine, burgundy, maroon, and barn red. Delusional flashes of irreversible abomination stabbed into every lobe of his surreal brain as he brought his brush to the canvas and resurrected the buried skeletons of his closet. Stroke by stroke, the searing liquid poured out of the their flesh with a manner that was undeniably egregious.
A studio is a place to create, to birth, to represent, and to inspire. He saw no objection to the egregious betrayal of the reputational artists around the realms. The reaper can make martyrs of the most heinous souls, and reduce the herculean heroes of this world to shuddering bursts of dust on the fatigued wind that echoed around the Earth. A scattering of ashes, without ever being free to fly.
Bristles made out of malignant metal spikes dragged along the ivory flesh of the canvas as it writhed under his unforgiving movements. Begging to cling onto their pathetic mortality, as he renders them immortal in a characterised portrayal of their weak essence. Blending with such a ferocity that his arms pleaded to give way to the egregious agony of a dull ache. Clots, veins, tissue, muscle, and bone - nothing could ever compare to their splendor. His tears rained down onto the presence under him, the droplets putting pointillism to utter shame.
The faces stared back at him in a bizarre representation of his own eucharistic experience. Impasto distress was written over them in their last moments as his monstrous disciples had no choice but to worship him. They had shared their bodily wine and he had broken the ceremonial loaf. Deafening cries of merciless wounds bled out against the white as an egregious Faustian contract between his physical form and the truth of Mephistopheles that lived in his mind raged on. Pleausance wracked his neurons, his deceptively seraphic eyes detached themselves from what they had witnessed.
With bare and bloodied hands, he cast away any shadows of lingering doubt in his existence that he would be transported to a hallucination that formed the basis for his murderous cravings. To worship their features in such an egregious manner was the only way he'd been allowed to become expressive. Frantic, fascinated, and fragile, his ghostly fingers reached out and caressed the cheek of the portrait that stared back at his face.
Tonedeaf to the music of the pitiful, the artist had no time for the disrespectful and the ones who refused to understand; without substance or sustenance, they clawed their way through life, but he strode with pride. The life essence on his hands was not his own, but reflections of the egregious suffering that has left the artist in the form of Patchwork, stitched together by bare thread from his own strength.
Like a pluviophile to petrichor, the egregious artist melted into his own insanity and the depths of depravity as he pressed his lips against the canvas; the confined victim of self forced to endure the ultimate kiss from death's supple lips. Probing into the morally bankrupt nature of his dastardly crimes would unearth acts that do not represent humanity, but instead, its unrecognised failures. He was born into the indoctrination of original sin, with no displays of repentance to ever wash across his unforgiving face. Realism is the truest form of egregious suffering.
The artist was all too aware of the injustice, the wings we are conceived with are sawn off and flight is denied by the word of monarchs, politicians, preachers, and generals. Their hypocritical corruption defines the term egregious and yet the innocent and pure find themselves drowning in the narcissistic blame of those individuals. The artist would slaughter his own identity over and over again until he made the world understand that to die is only the beginning of our lives.'
— Egregious —
'A prismatic vision of morbid obsessional starvation; light coral, orange-red, tart, red, scarlet, vermillion, crimson, amaranth red, rosso corsa, rufous, ruby red, pillarbox, carmine, wine, burgundy, maroon, and barn red. Delusional flashes of irreversible abomination stabbed into every lobe of his surreal brain as he brought his brush to the canvas and resurrected the buried skeletons of his closet. Stroke by stroke, the searing liquid poured out of the their flesh with a manner that was undeniably egregious.
A studio is a place to create, to birth, to represent, and to inspire. He saw no objection to the egregious betrayal of the reputational artists around the realms. The reaper can make martyrs of the most heinous souls, and reduce the herculean heroes of this world to shuddering bursts of dust on the fatigued wind that echoed around the Earth. A scattering of ashes, without ever being free to fly.
Bristles made out of malignant metal spikes dragged along the ivory flesh of the canvas as it writhed under his unforgiving movements. Begging to cling onto their pathetic mortality, as he renders them immortal in a characterised portrayal of their weak essence. Blending with such a ferocity that his arms pleaded to give way to the egregious agony of a dull ache. Clots, veins, tissue, muscle, and bone - nothing could ever compare to their splendor. His tears rained down onto the presence under him, the droplets putting pointillism to utter shame.
The faces stared back at him in a bizarre representation of his own eucharistic experience. Impasto distress was written over them in their last moments as his monstrous disciples had no choice but to worship him. They had shared their bodily wine and he had broken the ceremonial loaf. Deafening cries of merciless wounds bled out against the white as an egregious Faustian contract between his physical form and the truth of Mephistopheles that lived in his mind raged on. Pleausance wracked his neurons, his deceptively seraphic eyes detached themselves from what they had witnessed.
With bare and bloodied hands, he cast away any shadows of lingering doubt in his existence that he would be transported to a hallucination that formed the basis for his murderous cravings. To worship their features in such an egregious manner was the only way he'd been allowed to become expressive. Frantic, fascinated, and fragile, his ghostly fingers reached out and caressed the cheek of the portrait that stared back at his face.
Tonedeaf to the music of the pitiful, the artist had no time for the disrespectful and the ones who refused to understand; without substance or sustenance, they clawed their way through life, but he strode with pride. The life essence on his hands was not his own, but reflections of the egregious suffering that has left the artist in the form of Patchwork, stitched together by bare thread from his own strength.
Like a pluviophile to petrichor, the egregious artist melted into his own insanity and the depths of depravity as he pressed his lips against the canvas; the confined victim of self forced to endure the ultimate kiss from death's supple lips. Probing into the morally bankrupt nature of his dastardly crimes would unearth acts that do not represent humanity, but instead, its unrecognised failures. He was born into the indoctrination of original sin, with no displays of repentance to ever wash across his unforgiving face. Realism is the truest form of egregious suffering.
The artist was all too aware of the injustice, the wings we are conceived with are sawn off and flight is denied by the word of monarchs, politicians, preachers, and generals. Their hypocritical corruption defines the term egregious and yet the innocent and pure find themselves drowning in the narcissistic blame of those individuals. The artist would slaughter his own identity over and over again until he made the world understand that to die is only the beginning of our lives.'
