/jp/ - Otaku Culture

>>10959258
[BIRDAGE INTENSIFIES]

Japanese birds do their best now and are preparing. Please wait warmly until it is ready.

Hello, Japanese Bird Cooking Spaghetti.

I love japanese birds.

I love these threads.

I'm jealous of some people's skills. Picture related.

When the phone rang at 3:20 p.m. I was sprawled out on the tatami, staring at the ceiling. A pool of winter sunlight had formed in the place where I lay. Like a dead fly I lay there, vacant, in a December spotlight.

At first, I didn't recognize the sound as the phone ringing. It was more like an unfamiliar memory that had hesitantly slipped in between the layers of air. Finally, though, it began to take shape, and, in the end, a ringing phone was unmistakably what it was. It was one hundred per cent a phone ring in one-hundred-per-cent real air. Still sprawled out, I reached over and picked up the receiver.

On the other end was a girl, a girl so indistinct that, by four-thirty, she might very well have disappeared altogether. She was the ex-girlfriend of a friend of mine. Something had brought them together, this guy and this indistinct girl, and something had led them to break up. I had, I admit, reluctantly played a role in getting them together in the first place.

Sorry to bother you, she said, but do you know where he is now?

I looked at the phone, running my eyes along the length of the cord. The cord was, sure enough, attached to the phone. I managed a vague reply. There was something ominous in the girls voice, and whatever trouble was brewing I knew that I didn't want to get involved.

Nobody will tell me where he is, she said in a chilly tone. Everybody's pretending they don't know. But there's something important I have to tell him, so please tell me where he is. I promise I won't drag you into this. Where is he?

I honestly dont know, I told her. I haven't seen him in a long time. My voice didn't sound like my own. I was telling the truth about not having seen him for a long time, but not about the other part (I did know his address and phone number). Whenever I tell a lie, something weird happens to my voice.

No comment from her.

>>6037114
I have this saved already, but this isn't quite what I'm looking for. It looks "painting" like, but it's not what I'm looking for.

I also have this image, but it's not what I'm looking for either. The artists I requested it from has a style very similar to what I'm looking for, realistic while still keeping a cartoony style. Not sure how to explain.

Fucking masterpiece.

Spring, summer, and fall, I cooked and cooked, as if cooking spaghetti were an act of revenge. Like a lonely, jilted girl throwing old love letters into the fireplace, I tossed one handful of spaghetti after another into the pot.

I'd gather up the trampled-down shadows of time, knead them into the shape of a German shepherd, toss them into the roiling water, and sprinkle them with salt. Then I'd hover over the pot, oversized chopsticks in hand, until the timer dinged its plaintive note.

Spaghetti strands are a crafty bunch, and I couldn't let them out of my sight. If I were to turn my back, they might well slip over the edge of the pot and vanish into the night. The night lay in silent ambush, hoping to waylay the prodigal strands.

Spaghetti alla parmigiana

Spaghetti alla napoletana

Spaghetti al cartoccio

Spaghetti aglio e olio

Spaghetti alla carbonara

Spaghetti della pina

And then there was the pitiful, nameless leftover spaghetti carelessly tossed into the fridge.

Born in heat, the strands of spaghetti washed down the river of 1971 and vanished.

I mourn them all -- all the spaghetti of the year 1971.

That trip has been public forever.