Stars

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The genre would teeter between magical realism, surrealism, and romanticism.
The genre would teeter between magical realism, surrealism, and romanticism.
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Stars was reviewed in the March 2007 issue of "The Peak" magazine out of Guelph Ontario.
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|quote=The writing in "stars" switches from conversations to interior monologue, and the characters are grand archetypes, making sweeping statements, creating their own mythology, falling in and out of love, everything you;d expect from a good theatre act...
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When the writer keeps adding "good nouns and adjectives" to very full sentences, you get the sense that whoever is speaking (if it were a play) would be rambling almost too fast to catch all of it.
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|source=Brenden Orange.
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==Excerpt from stars==
==Excerpt from stars==

Revision as of 16:51, 26 March 2007

Stars is a zine writen by TrollE and released in December 2006. It is the story of a boy who falls into another magical world where he meets another boy who lives in this strange place. They fall in love and explore the cities and forests of the magical world together. The genre would teeter between magical realism, surrealism, and romanticism.

Stars was reviewed in the March 2007 issue of "The Peak" magazine out of Guelph Ontario.

The writing in "stars" switches from conversations to interior monologue, and the characters are grand archetypes, making sweeping statements, creating their own mythology, falling in and out of love, everything you;d expect from a good theatre act...

When the writer keeps adding "good nouns and adjectives" to very full sentences, you get the sense that whoever is speaking (if it were a play) would be rambling almost too fast to catch all of it.
—Brenden Orange.

Excerpt from stars

"remember the movements of the planets when you studied the constellations and the galaxy, remember the single most beautiful thing, small and wonderful, in the palm of your hand as you let it swim and snake away, back to life, back to its own living." and everything came together in front of us, and then it slipped away. i told him i knew the blurry space he talked about.

he swore me to some soft secrecy, his knowing answers told as in some holy rite by candlelight in a long gone temple of stoic mystics armed to the teeth, with blood on the floor, encircling us, protecting. and me on knees pleadingly begging for truths and whatnot, but really now, it wasnt so dramatic. i carried class and worth on my shoulders and a good sense of self in my backpack.

and we played together, prayed together, asking the universe to let us in, and a sky with clouds and stars and a silverwhite moon shown a path and held us true to all our dreams & movements, however soft or subtle. our ideas slipped to impulse and the shamanistic motions of our pelvises settled together in a bed of limbs and leaves, spooning.

and i told him ive fallen for him like the stars shoot down from the sky and he took my hand, comforting like, and said he knew, he knew since some when i cant remember. i told him i felt all scurrying on the inside, like im a glow bug trapped in some awful jar when all i want to do is just float around and pretend im a shooting star falling through space. i worried inwardly to myself about the night air and creeping sickness... i wanted to hold his hand, but i needed it to fidget worriedly and self conciously while i stared quietly to the ground, then to his face, then to the ground, then the stars, then the ground again, unchanged, but still refreshingly uncomplicated.

and we sat low, and watched the faraway suns boom in the night a million miles away.

"we're astronauts," he said, "we gotta walk through space."

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