/lit/ - Literature

>>2455590
because people don't operate mainly on their xy or xx. because there are other chromosome combinations. because people operate on spectrum hormonal flow which does not necessarily correlate to biological gender. you're also saying that the biological gender is THE main factor in a person's identity which is just flat out wrong. People thing that gender is the main identifier because they've had it ideologically beat into them. Your ideas about gender need some serious revision
>mfw

okay i'll bump this shit once more before i head off and delete in case anyone has a thoughtful critique or something to say about constrained writing.

>>2435885
hah. indeed.

>>2319179
thanks much

93.
All organized linear;
all oblique along
optic vectors (spread before
me) you are
standing vertically
and recede toward singular
recollection. You were
reconciling geometry

Kilimanjaro no longer
carries snow along
her crown.
Contours of the
great rift valley
following no great
grand schema

I was horizontal
eyes along the ceiling
breathing as did
the ceiling surface seem to be
it receded
or was it i
descending slow comparatively

>>2224112
>>2224112
>no gaddis
>no pynchon

mfw

>>2218786
>what does this mean?

directly opposite in hue (across the color wheel from)

perhaps true i am overwriting

>>2039015
no see here's the problem: she never even touches the whole idea of why certain persons are somehow arbitrarily endowed with private property and here's why: the great majority of wealth in the world is inherited, rather than earned. She just doesn't even touch that whole idea, not even a little bit.

Don't get me wrong— I like what she has to say about the individual against the collective forces in the world, but what you just told me, if i'm correct is that >Like I suspected you don't know what you're talking about
which is first of all, not grammatically correct and secondly, you don't show me specifically how I don't know what I'm talking about. Having read well over 700 pages of Rand's work, I feel as if i'm fairly well able to speak to the quality and nuance of her writing.

Furthermore, just no.

>>2032135
>affinity for images

there's where, i guess, you and I disagree.

i'm of the mind that the concrete image is exceedingly important in the success of both poetry and fiction.

I do thank you though, for your thoughtful response and will certainly consider the practice of inspired poetry as opposed to the uninspired, which is certainly a problem i tend to have.

as far as the prolifery (real word?) goes, i've written about a hundred poems in the past 6 months and have certainly seen a general trajectory toward more concise and quality work, in my own perception.

discontinue Fiction.

there's where I'm stuck

so yes so— what is it that you all think about this thing which i have written for you?

>Political views(short summary if necessary)
>Nationalist
>Religious views
>My country is my god

fuuuuuuken serious?

>>1768820
yes but . . . hegel?

>mfw.jpg hegelian dialectic

>>1754773
is that really what you look like vladimir?

Ghost doors rattled throughout the house. Their latch bolts slammed gently back and forth in their too-big latches— the way they move with the drafts passing through any house on a late spring day when you've left all the windows open. I laid on the floor, removed from the functions of my body. This was the way to keep your self from spending entire days masturbating. The firm floor decompressed the stiffness in my spine. My spine was a heavy rope which had been soaked in vinegar and saltwater, then laid on a wooden marina dock in the sun to dry, keeping its tangled shape. Anyone who wanted to use this rope would have to systematically unwind and work the stiffened kinks out with their hands, flexing the rope back and forth at a variety of points along the line. The wind moved through the worn window screens, sounding a series of low rattling toy-wooden train whistles. The pitch modulated up marginally as the house inhaled, nervous and asthmatic. The mood of afternoons like these rely entirely on their abundant sunlight. On this, as on any afternoon, it landed in slitted geometric streaks on the carpeted floor and skin of my torso. The lines curved upward and horizontal above my hip. The impending evening would bring the reversion of this afternoon's artistic pleasures to its less pleasant counterpart. This was something I knew— that my comfort would at some always undeterminable point, turn to complete distaste and revulsion. Becoming non subject to the physical world was simultaneously an obsession and a thing which I knew would never happen. I had decided some time before to remove the inconsequential aesthetics incidentals from the essence of things.