Evil Airs- Another Lesson In How Not to Write by Nickolaus Pacione

Now that I’ve fully recovered from the grueling task of wading through FANDOM WEIRDNESS, I feel strong enough to wade into the diseased depths of the flatulent ferret’s writing once more. This time it’s EVIL AIRS, inspired by the time he got-wait for it-bronchitis! I’m already trembling with fear (the fear that this may do me in).

I had a bizarre dream when I passed out the past few nights.

So did I, it was so bizarre I thought that opening sentence made sense.

I found myself in a room full of mirrors sort of a hall of mirrors to describe this

Well which is it, a hall or a room? Christ, it’s not that difficult to pick one, is it?

The thoughts as they dwell inside which it is written as it is here — the narrative being as one lays within the covers of the bed of the hotel overlooking the outskirts of Joliet and Rockdale, Illinois.

The nausea as it dwells in my stomach is but a grain of sand in the endless beach that is Pacione’s  wretched writing.  I already need a lay down and it’s barely the second paragraph.

Where in the darkness that the coughing can be heard — loud enough to shatter the glass in the rooms.

Apparently this is the Ella Fitzgerald of coughing!

From the sleep are heard in the whispers of strangers — where in the night of silence had been shattered by sounds of the coughing in the sense of the mind, the impaling of ones lungs.

So I put that into Google translator and it said no such language known.

the description could be similar to the hotel and a hospital where it is set up like a movie theater;

Tip: before writing a story know where the damned thing is set, is it a room, a hall, a hotel, a hospital or a movie theater? All that coughing would piss people off in a movie theater. Kind of like people get pissed you call yourself a writer when they read your work.

the pages induced from the medicated slumber as they pen into the narratives from the being in the shadow of time. Understanding as it comes being from the drug induced sleep knowing that comes from the dreams —

Who wants drugs? Who needs drugs to understand this? Seriously, all I know is there’s some louder fucker coughing and breaking glass.

Foreboding minds — as one sleeps from the dark transcending into the waning daylight.

Foreboding: you use that word and I do not think it means what you think it means.

The stark descriptions of which being from the hospital and the hotels being that one can hear the vitals of the next room fading from the neighboring bed.

I need my vitals checked. I mean really, what the hell does any of this mean?

the hard coughing that impale the ribs as a rattler biting and injecting into the bloodstream.

As a rather biting and injecting what? Is it the Turd Raper of Campbell Hollow come to haunt you?

Passing slumber of the eyes which open the gates of the bizarre dreams that come among the darkening majestic — the patterns descending from the blacker cosmos; from the thoughts of which are the defining sleep of years.

So all 2200 words of this “story” is about someone being sick and and having bad dreams as they drift in and out of sleep.  I’ll be awake all night.

For one of his novels, William Burroughs took the manuscript, cut it in four pieces and then put all the pieces back together-but not in order-and THAT still makes more sense than this.

Of course Burroughs was a great writer, and Pacione is barely literate, so there is that.

18 thoughts on “Evil Airs- Another Lesson In How Not to Write by Nickolaus Pacione

  1. Oh no I had a coughing fit, and I broke my windows! Wait, no I didn’t. I had a couple of glasses of wine, and I still can’t comprehend a word of what Nicky wrote.

  2. Dafuq did I just read?! That gibberish made ZERO sense. I’m sure Nickypoo thought he was being all deep and gothy while he was spewing this into his word processor

  3. Marvellous, oh and by the way, Scott, I noticed that Nicky admitted to practising the dictionary definition of sodomy in the comments to your Love Nikita Style entry making him a sodomite. Oh how I laughed.

  4. I wrote that one entirely on my defunct xanga blog, I showed this to a reader on AIM when I was in charge of the Goth community — she gave it the title of Evil Airs. What I write isn’t for the faggot.

          1. People do enjoy my work, the people who enjoy your flames on my work because they are all faggots who dance around that fucking sin flag. I will see to it that you will never be “married”

          2. Lol, yeah, I’m sure you have that power. While you’re at it, try and find someone who has an IQ above yours who thinks you’re talented.

      1. That’s the truth Nicky. Your work isn’t fit for anyone to read. Anyone who claims to actually like your keyboard diarrhea is either illiterate or lying in an attempt to avoid your crazy stalkerish antics.

  5. Proof that Nicky’s gay fantasies are more descriptive than his so-called horror: “I am not going to let you turn my work into your personal prison bitch so you can ass rape like a cum burping faggot you are. Go find a horse and suck it off.”

    Straight men don’t write like that. I don’t know any gay men who do either. A severely repressed man-child who watches a lot of gay porn…perhaps.

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