Bite me

[Tsotha]

In the top lost there are several poems that have an excess of 20 votes. One of mine arrived. This has been brought to my attention.
Generally speaking any poem that has more than double votes than comments are suspect. There are a variety of reasons, fraud being one, the others may not be fraud
but are either unethical or unfair. Linking from another site, an authour getting his fans to vote on a poem. Fan base for stories are much larger for poetry.

I had nothing to do with this, nor condone it, but if Literotica persists in allowing anonymous voting it should be at least weighed. Each anon vote counting for 1/10 of a commented vote.
My view it should be done away with, but since they are concerned with traffic, if they weight the votes, like maybe 1/100 and not tell the public it may be a workable compromise. Oh hell. alts are cheap enough.

That isn't enough. Anything that can be automated can be skewed. For voting to be secure, they'd need to require an account, and the account creation system would need to be protected from automation, too.

 

[twelveoone]

#6 Poem by Angeline has 20 votes, 14 comments
comment ratio exceeds what I consider minimum, a reasonable representation
#7 looks like a story, with the fan base coming in, 47 votes 12 comments

so #5 (mine) with 90 votes, suspect as hell and grossly unfair to Angeline.

and so on down the line - distrust any poem with more than twice the votes than comments, something is wrong

As said it works the other way also, I witnessed something like 32 zeros in less than a minute.


This is not how it should be.

 

[twelveoone]

That isn't enough. Anything that can be automated can be skewed. For voting to be secure, they'd need to require an account, and the account creation system would need to be protected from automation, too.

Actually, there is a run around that, some woman once created something like 20 alts for voting an comment purposes, logging on from different computers, but at least that took work.

 

[twelveoone]

so at least distrust any thing that does not mention a specific in the poem, but if you look at Tass's comments, that can be mimicked.

 

[twelveoone]

and damn, I just buried my prose poem.

 

[Tsotha]

and damn, I just buried my prose poem.

Ha, ha, ha! Here is another shovel! BURIED!

Indeed, the number of votes is so low that you could bump up a poem manually. However, even stories with thousands of votes are subject to bombing. The people with top list stories are those with a fan following, capable of heavily outnumbering casual trolls.

 

[twelveoone]

Ha, ha, ha! Here is another shovel! BURIED!

Indeed, the number of votes is so low that you could bump up a poem manually. Even stories are subject to bombing, though. The people with top list stories are those with fans following.

or bump down.
you pose a dilema either I re post my prose poem and bury this..
but a fan base if not unreasonable has to be lived with, and the fans that comment seem to be real people, some not that astute. Some overtly predictable.
There were three poems last week, I recommended as a fan, because any one that gets ahead of me in a poem knocks me out of critic mode, and generally certain people deserve a little more leeway because what looks like a mistake may not be, and some shit is just fun. However. I was a fan of WickedEve and if something struck me as wrong, I said it.

 

[Tsotha]

or bump down.
you pose a dilema either I re post my prose poem and bury this..
but a fan base if not unreasonable has to be lived with, and the fans that comment seem to be real people, some not that astute. Some overtly predictable.
There were three poems last week, I recommended as a fan, because any one that gets ahead of me in a poem knocks me out of critic mode, and generally certain people deserve a little more leeway because what looks like a mistake may not be, and some shit is just fun. However. I was a fan of WickedEve and if something struck me as wrong, I said it.

I was talking about fans of prose writers. An author might have hundreds of readers who are twirling their thumbs waiting for a new chapter of an ongoing story. These "return readers" are unlikely to leave a bad vote. Those who don't like the story likely won't return just to leave a bad score.

Of course, some people return specifically to leave a bad score, due to not approving something in a story. "How dare you write about <something>!"

Take a look at any long series. The first chapter might have a score of 4.5. The second, 4.55. By the fiftieth chapter, the score will be very close to 5, because anyone who disliked the story will have been filtered out by then. You'll still get the occasional troll, and people trying to pull the rug from each other to get a better position on the hall of fame list, but that's it. If you have enough people who care about the story, they'll just outnumber the troll.

With poetry, however... Most submissions get 100 views and 1-5 comments / votes. So yes, all it takes is for one person to 1-bomb to take a poem down. For poetry, a different model might be better. Which one, specifically? Arguable. Pointless, too, since it's not going to be developed.

 

[twelveoone]

re: red tint
comment left
thank you for bringing this to my attention
red tint
bytwelveoone©

even the waving blades of grass
have a reddened tint to eyes
upon deserting sun


to the south over the plain
copper base and satin azurite
leads up to the dark


to a scimitar of pearl alone
i wait for stars in air
so clear

i am alone

far from home and cold
a darker damask
comes soon

My view of this, if it fails it fails because of "azurite" which it was a test for, if it works, it works because a complex series of twos to a set of three "alone, far from home and cold"
"scimitar of pearl' as best as I can tell, is unique.

 

[Tsotha]

re: red tint
comment left
thank you for bringing this to my attention
red tint
bytwelveoone©

even the waving blades of grass
have a reddened tint to eyes
upon deserting sun


to the south over the plain
copper base and satin azurite
leads up to the dark


to a scimitar of pearl alone
i wait for stars in air
so clear

i am alone

far from home and cold
a darker damask
comes soon

My view of this, if it fails it fails because of "azurite" which it was a test for, if it works, it works because a complex series of twos to a set of three "alone, far from home and cold"
"scimitar of pearl' as best as I can tell, is unique.

I really don't get why you're so hung up on the azurite. I thought it was a really cool idea. Azurite contains (envelops) copper, as the blue sky envelops the land below. Why does it "fail"? Am I missing some deeper hidden meaning, here?

 

[twelveoone]

I really don't get why you're so hung up on the azurite. I thought it was a really cool idea. Azurite contains (envelops) copper, as the blue sky envelops the land below. Why does it "fail"? Am I missing some deeper hidden meaning, here?

simply put, it fails because the audience (onto a vast and panderous landscape.) generally is not as smart as you , if I would have said like a stone on the sky they would have accepted that, however, it has probably been said before and would have done nothing for the colour. I probably should have thought it out and put another gem there. that would have offset a two.
azuite/pearl
and to be honest, if presented to me as someone else's poem, I may not have recognised it. I know I would have questioned it.

 

[twelveoone]

#6 Poem by Angeline has 20 votes, 14 comments
comment ratio exceeds what I consider minimum, a reasonable representation
#7 looks like a story, with the fan base coming in, 47 votes 12 comments

so #5 (mine) with 90 votes, suspect as hell and grossly unfair to Angeline.

and so on down the line - distrust any poem with more than twice the votes than comments, something is wrong

As said it works the other way also, I witnessed something like 32 zeros in less than a minute.


This is not how it should be.

and somehow it looks like a sweeper was run it is now down to 87 votes

well at least the comment to vote ratio is better than cuddly al

and i haven't turned off voting like the testicleless wonders who get the H and THEN turn off the voting?

 

[Tsotha]

and somehow it looks like a sweeper was run it is now down to 87 votes

well at least the comment to vote ratio is better than cuddly al

and i haven't turned off voting like the testicleless wonders who get the H and THEN turn off the voting?

The H remains? Oh, that's smart.

Well, if the infallible sweeper has run and 87 votes remain, I guess some 60 people must have voted on it.

 

[twelveoone]

The H remains? Oh, that's smart.

Well, if the infallible sweeper has run and 87 votes remain, I guess some 60 people must have voted on it.

yeah. 10 actuality read it. I know I did. Four times before posting it. Probably four more times than some others submitted. I have no "poetic soul".

 

[twelveoone]

the man, like no other

 

[Tsotha]

the man, like no other

*raises glass to the man who searches in daylight with a lamp in hand*

 

[twelveoone]

Gates of Hell

aka
Insistence of Memory

The argument: Life is a long upward climb with steep steps, and full of surprises which mainly suck.

Darla was an ethereal girl
lived in a in a third floor walkup.
Darla? It was Linda, I remember
sneaking past her door-
Linda lived on the forth floor-
and more steps.

Good thing it wasn't Betty.
Tanya, I'd be home by now,
but Tanya despised me.
Fuck Tanya, too.

I in black ELP shirt, sunglasses,
bad teeth behind a sneer.
Tanya hated ELP.
Fuck Tanya, too.
Linda all boney in a red dress
trudged up the steps,
her ass red flaggin
these bull's eyes,
trudged up the steps,
the hem of dress played
Led Zeppelin but muffled in my head
quietly past Darla's door.

In the dark, and I had
sunglasses, didn't think
to push 'em up on my head,
with chinese take out,
she said she had wine
so I neglected to pick up beer.
YESSS! Shhh. Darla never heard us
and Linda opens her door.

"Want some? its psilocybin"

Yeh, I thought, bad acid
cut with crap
and crap we talked...

Ginsberg? Ferlingetti, I had no use for

I have enough trouble getting off
the ride in the amusement park
of my mind
Though I read both Burroughs
every word
is a viral load
envined.

Chinese take out, cheap wine, bad acid
oft makes a gastric disaster.
Me, I's wired on something else,
what the fuck, I had a cough.
How the fuck did we get back from Chinatown?
Somewhere in the corner
her stuffed animals became an evil cast,
glassy eyed, the fluffed rabble rumbled
with homicidal laughs.
In retro, probably
the freakin El.

Somehow Linda's panties
found their way to the floor,
a floral pattern on hard wood,
like spring had burst out
all over again and I'm still
thinking Burroughs
"Naked Lunch"
and some old television show
"Leave it to Beaver"
only in more color, many more,
and Tarzan keeps swinging through.

And now her stuffed animals
are wielding cleavers.
Just in case, I took down
their names. memorized faces.
In retro, I still
don't know
WHAT the Fuck That was.


Now every so often a crack
in the universe appears
and out pops a projectile god
who heaves an apcoaloose.
For sunrise was so beautiful,
time flies when you're havin fun
or stoned,
the lit red of the bricks mixed
with the sight of red dressed Linda
(twas like the gates of hell, indeedy)
from the fire escape
sans panties
throwing up an offering
of cheap wine to
the winos looking up below.
And Tanya.YESSS! Who by Some stroke
of luck was also there. YESSS!
Till then I never much believed in god.

And the sight of the purple rice
and the less aerodynamically challenge
lo mein and other sundries raining down
in Peckinpah slo mo and the quadrasonic sound
of the roar and crack echoed in the alley
sounded like a lion being killed.
So being inspired, yelled
FUCKING EMERSON LAKE AND PALMER
In retro it was really King Crimson
I was thinking of.

About a hour, I'm still laughin
and Linda's througly purged
and pissed
"You're sick"
Moi? I have an artist's soul.
"You're an asshole"
Same thing, I said
in smirky glow.
"And Tanya thinks so too!"

That hurt.

Now my neurons mostly fluff pillows,
Linda's eating Jello instead.
Bright colors appeal to her,
appear still, after all these years.

My sunglasses? Fell off the fire escape.
Broke.
The winos all cleaned up, got jobs
on Wall Street, one
now heads the Federal Reserve.
Mysterious are the works of God.
And later Linda and Tanya discovered
they were lesbians. Fuck Tanya, too.

So why this memory dump now? Well, today, Monday
in the trash are Linda's psycho animals
which Tan-yaa hated even more then she hated me.
Way to go, ya stoopid cunts. Led Zepplin, too?

HEY, look it's fuckin Pooh!
With a strange stain on his head,
glassy eyed and smilin.

The Morale: Fuck if I know.


TAGS
Federal Reserve Banking System
Four young girls all over 18 except Betty who was untouched, at least by me.
Target Apparel
Trite Sentimentalism
Work of God
Tree Inspired
Anon Bait
Proust in a shopping cart
Anti-Porn

I would submit this as a poem, but it has a story arc. Yep, I saw it:
And the sight of the purple rice...

 

[HarryHill]

aka
Insistence of Memory

The argument: Life is a long upward climb with steep steps, and full of surprises which mainly suck.

Darla was an ethereal girl
lived in a in a third floor walkup.
Darla? It was Linda, I remember
sneaking past her door-
Linda lived on the forth floor-
and more steps.

Good thing it wasn't Betty.
Tanya, I'd be home by now,
but Tanya despised me.
Fuck Tanya, too.

I in black ELP shirt, sunglasses,
bad teeth behind a sneer.
Tanya hated ELP.
Fuck Tanya, too.
Linda all boney in a red dress
trudged up the steps,
her ass red flaggin
these bull's eyes,
trudged up the steps,
the hem of dress played
Led Zeppelin but muffled in my head
quietly past Darla's door.

In the dark, and I had
sunglasses, didn't think
to push 'em up on my head,
with chinese take out,
she said she had wine
so I neglected to pick up beer.
YESSS! Shhh. Darla never heard us
and Linda opens her door.

"Want some? its psilocybin"

Yeh, I thought, bad acid
cut with crap
and crap we talked...

Ginsberg? Ferlingetti, I had no use for

I have enough trouble getting off
the ride in the amusement park
of my mind
Though I read both Burroughs
every word
is a viral load
envined.

Chinese take out, cheap wine, bad acid
oft makes a gastric disaster.
Me, I's wired on something else,
what the fuck, I had a cough.
How the fuck did we get back from Chinatown?
Somewhere in the corner
her stuffed animals became an evil cast,
glassy eyed, the fluffed rabble rumbled
with homicidal laughs.
In retro, probably
the freakin El.

Somehow Linda's panties
found their way to the floor,
a floral pattern on hard wood,
like spring had burst out
all over again and I'm still
thinking Burroughs
"Naked Lunch"
and some old television show
"Leave it to Beaver"
only in more color, many more,
and Tarzan keeps swinging through.

And now her stuffed animals
are wielding cleavers.
Just in case, I took down
their names. memorized faces.
In retro, I still
don't know
WHAT the Fuck That was.


Now every so often a crack
in the universe appears
and out pops a projectile god
who heaves an apcoaloose.
For sunrise was so beautiful,
time flies when you're havin fun
or stoned,
the lit red of the bricks mixed
with the sight of red dressed Linda
(twas like the gates of hell, indeedy)
from the fire escape
sans panties
throwing up an offering
of cheap wine to
the winos looking up below.
And Tanya.YESSS! Who by Some stroke
of luck was also there. YESSS!
Till then I never much believed in god.

And the sight of the purple rice
and the less aerodynamically challenge
lo mein and other sundries raining down
in Peckinpah slo mo and the quadrasonic sound
of the roar and crack echoed in the alley
sounded like a lion being killed.
So being inspired, yelled
FUCKING EMERSON LAKE AND PALMER
In retro it was really King Crimson
I was thinking of.

About a hour, I'm still laughin
and Linda's througly purged
and pissed
"You're sick"
Moi? I have an artist's soul.
"You're an asshole"
Same thing, I said
in smirky glow.
"And Tanya thinks so too!"

That hurt.

Now my neurons mostly fluff pillows,
Linda's eating Jello instead.
Bright colors appeal to her,
appear still, after all these years.

My sunglasses? Fell off the fire escape.
Broke.
The winos all cleaned up, got jobs
on Wall Street, one
now heads the Federal Reserve.
Mysterious are the works of God.
And later Linda and Tanya discovered
they were lesbians. Fuck Tanya, too.

So why this memory dump now? Well, today, Monday
in the trash are Linda's psycho animals
which Tan-yaa hated even more then she hated me.
Way to go, ya stoopid cunts. Led Zepplin, too?

HEY, look it's fuckin Pooh!
With a strange stain on his head,
glassy eyed and smilin.

The Morale: Fuck if I know.


TAGS
Federal Reserve Banking System
Four young girls all over 18 except Betty who was untouched, at least by me.
Target Apparel
Trite Sentimentalism
Work of God
Tree Inspired
Anon Bait
Proust in a shopping cart
Anti-Porn

I would submit this as a poem, but it has a story arc. Yep, I saw it:
And the sight of the purple rice...

And I thought I was fucked up. enjoyed it

 

[butters]

aka
Insistence of Memory

The argument: Life is a long upward climb with steep steps, and full of surprises which mainly suck.

Darla was an ethereal girl
lived in a in a third floor walkup.
Darla? It was Linda, I remember
sneaking past her door-
Linda lived on the forth floor-
and more steps.

Good thing it wasn't Betty.
Tanya, I'd be home by now,
but Tanya despised me.
Fuck Tanya, too.

I in black ELP shirt, sunglasses,
bad teeth behind a sneer.
Tanya hated ELP.
Fuck Tanya, too.
Linda all boney in a red dress
trudged up the steps,
her ass red flaggin
these bull's eyes,
trudged up the steps,
the hem of dress played
Led Zeppelin but muffled in my head
quietly past Darla's door.

In the dark, and I had
sunglasses, didn't think
to push 'em up on my head,
with chinese take out,
she said she had wine
so I neglected to pick up beer.
YESSS! Shhh. Darla never heard us
and Linda opens her door.

"Want some? its psilocybin"

Yeh, I thought, bad acid
cut with crap
and crap we talked...

Ginsberg? Ferlingetti, I had no use for

I have enough trouble getting off
the ride in the amusement park
of my mind
Though I read both Burroughs
every word
is a viral load
envined.

Chinese take out, cheap wine, bad acid
oft makes a gastric disaster.
Me, I's wired on something else,
what the fuck, I had a cough.
How the fuck did we get back from Chinatown?
Somewhere in the corner
her stuffed animals became an evil cast,
glassy eyed, the fluffed rabble rumbled
with homicidal laughs.
In retro, probably
the freakin El.

Somehow Linda's panties
found their way to the floor,
a floral pattern on hard wood,
like spring had burst out
all over again and I'm still
thinking Burroughs
"Naked Lunch"
and some old television show
"Leave it to Beaver"
only in more color, many more,
and Tarzan keeps swinging through.

And now her stuffed animals
are wielding cleavers.
Just in case, I took down
their names. memorized faces.
In retro, I still
don't know
WHAT the Fuck That was.


Now every so often a crack
in the universe appears
and out pops a projectile god
who heaves an apcoaloose.
For sunrise was so beautiful,
time flies when you're havin fun
or stoned,
the lit red of the bricks mixed
with the sight of red dressed Linda
(twas like the gates of hell, indeedy)
from the fire escape
sans panties
throwing up an offering
of cheap wine to
the winos looking up below.
And Tanya.YESSS! Who by Some stroke
of luck was also there. YESSS!
Till then I never much believed in god.

And the sight of the purple rice
and the less aerodynamically challenge
lo mein and other sundries raining down
in Peckinpah slo mo and the quadrasonic sound
of the roar and crack echoed in the alley
sounded like a lion being killed.
So being inspired, yelled
FUCKING EMERSON LAKE AND PALMER
In retro it was really King Crimson
I was thinking of.

About a hour, I'm still laughin
and Linda's througly purged
and pissed
"You're sick"
Moi? I have an artist's soul.
"You're an asshole"
Same thing, I said
in smirky glow.
"And Tanya thinks so too!"

That hurt.

Now my neurons mostly fluff pillows,
Linda's eating Jello instead.
Bright colors appeal to her,
appear still, after all these years.

My sunglasses? Fell off the fire escape.
Broke.
The winos all cleaned up, got jobs
on Wall Street, one
now heads the Federal Reserve.
Mysterious are the works of God.
And later Linda and Tanya discovered
they were lesbians. Fuck Tanya, too.

So why this memory dump now? Well, today, Monday
in the trash are Linda's psycho animals
which Tan-yaa hated even more then she hated me.
Way to go, ya stoopid cunts. Led Zepplin, too?

HEY, look it's fuckin Pooh!
With a strange stain on his head,
glassy eyed and smilin.

The Morale: Fuck if I know.


TAGS
Federal Reserve Banking System
Four young girls all over 18 except Betty who was untouched, at least by me.
Target Apparel
Trite Sentimentalism
Work of God
Tree Inspired
Anon Bait
Proust in a shopping cart
Anti-Porn

I would submit this as a poem, but it has a story arc. Yep, I saw it:
And the sight of the purple rice...

plenty of bite, bile and vine in this... enjoyed hearing the sounds of steps on concrete and metal
led zepp - climbing the stairway (to heaven)
acid/acid
envined/cheap wine/purple rice falling like rain but in a story arc
dump/pooh
crack in the universe/sans panties(?)
projectile god/purple rice


so so much and more here
even though i've never experienced 'acid', i've had acid. this one melts right through concrete. and fuck tanya.

 

[twelveoone]

And I thought I was fucked up. enjoyed it

pure farce
as satire

 

[twelveoone]

regurgitated thought

of the day

One, it is always a mistake to think the protagonist or the first person narrator is the writer. They are the creation of the writer. Although, too many writers bank on that erroneous reader assumption. Poets may be the worst of the lot.
Two, the narration or dialog is in the domain of the story or of the characters!!!!??!!

three, all else is bullshuttle, space crap, baby!!!!!!!!

 

[pensivepoet]

of the day

One, it is always a mistake to think the protagonist or the first person narrator is the writer. They are the creation of the writer. Although, too many writers bank on that erroneous reader assumption. Poets may be the worst of the lot.
Two, the narration or dialog is in the domain of the story or of the characters!!!!??!!

three, all else is bullshuttle, space crap, baby!!!!!!!!

So, earl hamner wasn't really john boy walton?
An aside~
I read spencers mountain (the inspiration for waltons) and it was perhaps the worst garbage i've ever inhaled.

 

[twelveoone]

So, I saw an idiot today,
there must be a poem in that!
But, I figured the League of Idiots would complain.
A comedy? Been done to death.
And Will Farrell was otherwise engaged.
A charity! "Neurons for
the Thoughtfully Challenged"
but, social needia came on my ass
fast!
(Even though I had a cure)
So I settled for a bumper sticker
"Think it Through"
and no one got it.

LABELS yeh, I know its prose, yeh, been there done that...
...but! You don't have the T-shirt yet...
$19.95 comes complete with an added emotional load.

 

[todski28]

So, I saw an idiot today,
there must be a poem in that!
But, I figured the League of Idiots would complain.
A comedy? Been done to death.
And Will Farrell was otherwise engaged.
A charity! "Neurons for
the Thoughtfully Challenged"
but, social needia came on my ass
fast!
(Even though I had a cure)
So I settled for a bumper sticker
"Think it Through"
and no one got it.

LABELS yeh, I know its prose, yeh, been there done that...
...but! You don't have the T-shirt yet...
$19.95 comes complete with an added emotional load.

Round of applause!!! Fucking brilliant and.scathing and just so 12oh.

 

[Trixareforkids]

...but! You don't have the T-shirt yet...
$19.95 comes complete with an added emotional load.

What emotion were you feeling when you shot that load?
And does it glow under a black light?
'Cause ya know idiots love black light...
Look, I'm glowing!