/lit/ - Literature

>>16309918
Do me do me!
>>16309126

>>16309923
I'm not sure how you did it but you've truly captured the absolute state of lit

>>16309961
High praise. But if it be true, then not all is lost, surely!

>>16309923
it's well written, inciting lol

>>16310017
Does it rhyme?

>>16310029
>point one liters times point one molar sodium hydroxide equals point zero zero one moles sodium hydroxide, which equals point zero zero one moles hydroxide. pee eighch equals eight point two plus log ten.
no, it does not; i thought this was a handwriting thread

>>16309918
How about we see these dubs instead?

>>16309918
>>16310103
Pathetic. Watch this.

>>16310185
>>16310103
If you won't do it, I will

Okay, but promise not to make fun of me.
>Lysidike took her ability to read his mind as a matter of course, but his converse power was still unsettling. Time was only Anaximander ever gleaned what she thought with any proficiency; but he deduced her nature from what his oily smarts told him was the nature of a person, and only sardonically hinted at his mastery. Tlexictli didn’t even have to puzzle to catch her straight away, so the privacy she took for a metaphysical given in her youth broke up, and she felt her disagreements with her husband as dumb sensory pressures, like heat or cold. Their cross-purposes weren’t any easier for their transparency, but there was nothing to worry over – they’d conducted business together before becoming sentimental.

>>16310201
Interesting. I can barely make sense of it other than it's about people with superpowers but I like it. The naming seems weird tho

>>16310209
>>16310197
>>16310185
>>16310103

>>16310201
Interesting, feel like it needs dumbed down to make more sense tho. I like how you describe her disagreements as feeling hot and cold

>>16310224
>>16310215

>>16310218
Now watch these dubs

>>16310233
Oh oh

>>16310103
>>16310185
>>16310209
I'm sorry guys but it looks like the only honourable option left for you is seppuku

The gyroscopic tilting of a splinter dug through the inside of the first joint of his little finger slowly made itself known to him. He uncurled his fingers like a tired flag from around the handle of the hammer, and the dull pain twitched halfway into a stinging heat before settling again as the inch and a half long pin-needle of wood tugged and snapped off of the handle. The wood beneath where the splinter used to be was a good few shades lighter, and of clearer color than the weathered wood of the rest of the shaft, and a bead of blood and sweat ran its way down the full length of it from the head, cascading into the crack of the wood and staining it black and shining.
He inspected the splinter in his finger closely, and saw that it had entered and exited his flesh like a sewing pin through old trousers. He hooked two fingers around the small, broken thing, one finger on either side of the entry and exit wound. He pulled, and the jolt of the thin tag of skin splitting almost made a sound in his ears, but it could just have been the sound of his pounding heart.
The man holding the hammer flicked the splinter aside and looked downwards. The forehead of the man on the ground had what looked vaguely like a third eye socket in the center, and the wound seemed akin to the center of a spider web with lines of blood running consistently along their respective streams, outward from the center to pool to collect on the concrete beneath his head. His face was like the part of the beach just outside of the reach of the tide, where holes carved into the sand quickly fill with water from the bottom up. A dark pool, thick as the ocean, and almost as salty.
>Just something I wrote down earlier for the hell of it, idk what to do with it really

>>16310273
yes, I know it has run ons, i'm too tired to fix it right now and I don't really see any poinr of doing so anyway

>>16310273
Very good. Are you Flaubert reincarnated perhaps? I say this with admiration

gimme a prompt daddy

>>16310283
it's entirely possible, and thank you anon

>>16310258
If dubs i seppuku, if not then youuu

>>16310331
smork

>>16310324
You're a hypochondriac whose on a blind date with a disgusting morbidly obese woman

>>16310324
Being confident you'll impress your colleagues or whoever, only to get completely btfo by each of them one after another and the sickness (or lack of) one feels at that

>>16310331
O no anon

>>16310344
Oof

>>16310324
A group of men sit around a conference table comparing business cards, trying to find ways to compliment them.

Alexandru had just added more rosemary to the stew when the lid once again started erratically toddling along the cast iron pot's edge. The vapors turned his sweater and shirt collar all damp, and long gone were the glasses that already caught an impenetrable layer of dense fog the first time he had leaned over the pot, safely stored next to the sink on the far side of the kitchen. Aunt Mira's carp stew was the stuff of legends in Alexandru's family, always the peak of family dinners, never too spicy despite all the peppers and of course not a bit bland. Her skills around the kitchen spoon combined with the short-lived blooming period she had experienced following her husband's death caught her a stew of gossip herself though, the more superstitious crones of the valley spreading their irrefutable conviction that this Mira was indeed capable of witchcraft, the news carefully ferried from window board to window board. Alexandru was not too worried about the stew smelling so different from when his aunt prepared the dish, it was rather the witchcraft that had gotten him thinking. Would these old hags have their mouths shut by Mira's inability to cheat death?

>>16310329
Thank you for sharing. It was a captivating read

>While one might easily think lies and deceit to be the antithesis of truth; truth as was earlier defined is born of a will to see it exist on both an individual and collective level. To that end, indolence and complacency and all which would see man seek no greater truth or understanding in life are the true enemies of truth with deception being but a tool through which indolence and it's ilk might be fostered.

>>16310353
you're quite welcome. I confess that ive never real Flaubert, my influences come from various other sources, many of them being short stories and snippets ive read. Chuck P. is a big influence as well, I read fight club recently.
Which of Flauberts novels would you recommend?
excuse my lack of grammar as well, i'm pretty tired right now kek

>>16310371
I've only read Madame Bovary. Flaubert probably isn't that accurate a comparison because the dude has whole paragraphs that are one or two sentences of description. Thinking about it, yeah I guess I can see some Palahniuk in there.

>>16310387
yeah, I think that when writing, you sort of reshape whatever you read most recently, which is why ive been trying to read more than I do now, which is already a lot

>>16310017
fuck your fucking sig figs nigga

>>16310273
>made itself known to him
this is grammatically ugly.

>>16310103
check these

>>16310395
I agree and I think the idea that we're all just better or worse at pretending to be original is mischievous and wholesome

>>16310456
indeed. One of the more interesting authors I read didn't even pretend to be original, he outright said that his writing was a product of everything he wrote. Even if it is inspired by others, what he had written was still profound and well crafted, and that's what matters in my opinion.

>>16310456
Saying this is a tad ingenuine though, while most things we write are inspired by previous things we've read, most if not all are iterations, everyone adding their small inputs to a greater idea that's passed on. Whether that idea started from a strange interpretation of reality or a small offshoot of it, every idea passes through the mind of another and is iterated upon in the closest thing to what one can consider originality.
It's a meme.
All of fiction is a series of memes pushed through the generations.

>Ted Bundy traced over John Wayne Gacys flaccid penis with his penny-scented fingers. John Wayne Gacy's face was beginning to flush a bright red. A fury of red, like autumn leaves, Ted thought to himself. Ted pursed his lips, gently placing his hand on one side of JWG's face, bringing their visages close together. The moment was a once in a lifetime experience. Eminem's "Stan" plays loudly in the background, as both Ted and JWG share an embrace. Ted reaches out to something out of view, which he slowly trails up the back of JWG. it's a dragon dildo. Ted Bundy is ready to murder this man.

Gents, no need for a Pulitzer

>>16310337
I pulled up to the Applebee's around three in the afternoon and composed myself as I walked towards the front door. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and I could feel the heat rising from the parking lot's asphault. I wiped my brow and fanned my shirt as I walked past two birds fighting for what looked like a half-eaten breaded mozzarella stick. My brother recently set me up on a blind date with one of his co-workers--I only agreed to do it because my family already thinks I'm a pussy--so I figured this would stop some of the shit talking. Upon entering I walked up to the hostess; a racially ambiguous teenager with LED hoop earrings and eyebrows that were shaved off, only to be drawn back on again. She stood still--staring at her phone behind the host stand, her tied-up hair bobbing softly as she chewed her gum. My eyes wandered the stagnant Americana plastered about the walls, waiting for her to say something. ''White Wedding" by Billy Idol was playing on the restaurant's speakers, and I finally began to cool down from the summer heat. Finally, she noticed me.

''O-oh! I'm sorry! Table for one? We have bar seating too, if you'd like?'' she recited as she grabbed a menu for me.

''Ah, uh, thanks, but I'm actually meeting up with someone here."

''Okay, well they could be here already, what do they look like, I've been here all day"

A warm gush of aired suddenly filled the entrance.

''Well it's kind of funny, I don't really kn-"

''-Jerry?!'', a shrill voice yelled behind me, and all I could see was a silhouette shaped like an anthropomorphic fridge in front of the slowly closing door.

''Yeah?", was all I could get out before the shape ambushed me, pulling me into an embrace. It had to have been at least a half-foot taller than me.

When I pulled away, I was able to witness my assailant. She stood over six feet tall and was easily 450 pounds. She wore Crocs, a skirt, and a shirt with a Disney character on it. I think it was Eeyore, but I'm not too sure, because what happened next distracted me from everything else. I gazed at her bright blue eyes set in her pasty white face, with greasy strands of sandy colored hair grown to just above her shoulders.

And then I saw her neck.

"Is...uh...Are...Are those skin tags?''

''Wh-what?"

My voice began to tremble, and increase with volume. ''Are those skin tags?''

Her face got red and her eyebrows slanted in sadness. ''Is...that a problem?'' she whimpered.

Skin tags? Really?

"Yeah-Yeah, it's a fucking problem, you vile cunt. Fucking skin tags? SKIN TAGS?! AND YOU HAD THE FUCKING AUDACITY TO TOUCH ME?!"

Without thinking, I took a swing, and perfectly connected with her jaw bone. She slumped down against the host stand, and the hostess immediately began screaming. People began to stare as I grabbed a bottle of hand sanitizer off the host stand, squirting it out and rubbing it all over my face and neck, and running it through my hair. I proceeded to turn around and kick her hard in the head.

>>16310693
Sorry, I hit the character max in the post. should I keep going? Thoughts so far?

>>16310704
I said hypochondriac, not a Chad. I would read more

>>16310704
This is how far I got when I had the idea a couple years ago. The story was going to end with Karl panicking and running to the bathroom where he proceeds to tear his face off by cleaning it too hard.

Karl had a big night ahead of him. Swinging in his computer chair, his main confidant for the past 8 months, he exhaled, halted and went over to the door of his room and began to apply his personal Germ-X under the frame. His intention was to leave the room but his heart pumped apprehension throughout his spirit. He had a date tonight and though his withdrawn appearance should of been his biggest concern he let something much smaller torture his mind. Germs. They were everywhere. The omnipresence of disease and impurity had been reason enough for Karl to acclimate his job and social life to Bayside Cemetery, a sepulchral petite lot whose major events were only sex and vandalism.
Rubbing away the final remnants of germ-x, Karl took half a step forward, pivoted, and found himself going across his poorly carpeted floor and to the dating website whose efforts endowed Karl a date with Valeria Campbell. She was 33 years old, and 320 lbs. of pure Hispano-American women. Unwilling to post a photo of herself, like Karl, Valeria had been selected due to one sentence on her profile, “I’m a neat freak, I have to keep all knobs shiny;).” Sadly, this brought the return of an incessant bump that had been ruining Karl’s way of life recently. A fan of lechery, this bump should have interrupted the mind’s thoughts for only truly erogenous moments but lately the line between work and play had blurred. Normally arousing in places of solitaire, the bump had been bringing its impertinent zeal to the public. Especially funerals.

>>16310769

I finished it just because. Here you go.

He had to do it. He was going to seduce Valeria Campbell.
When he stepped inside the humble Mexican restaurant, he begged the world would swallow him whole. There were dozens of people breathing, touching and contaminating everything. At least he brought his own silverware. But where was Valeria. Sadly in America’s current state, a 320 lb woman does not stick out in a crowd.
He decided the most logical approach would be to ask each fat woman if she was Valeria. Valeria? He asked a mother of two. Valeria? He asked a group of three large female friends. Valeria? He asked single women consuming 2 plates alone. After 2 more attempts, he finally found his date.
Beneath a pink spagetti strap layed a planet host to many organisms unseeable to the naked eye. Within her wavy depths, they manifested in acne, pus, grease, and mold. Her black hair stringy with whatever natural oils build when uncleaned. Her large legs forced open a skirt unleashing a stench that tortured animals with a keen sense of sell. Karl sat down across from the walking biome. His attempt to smile erupted a robotic twitch fuled by his anixety. Eventually he introduced himself and began asking her about herself.
As he found out about her occuption at Walmart, love of snacks, and issues with the current administration, he started to sweat. His diseased mind was running scenarios of his imminent demise. Surely a bacterium was going to migrate across the table and implant itself within his system. There it would replicate itself until the infection destroyed a vital organ system. His flight response kicked in and he rapidly excused himself to the bathroom.
Lacking the social intelligence to muster a reason to leave, he assessed whether the threat was severe enough to warrant bailing. However, he remembered why he was there in the first place. The bump had returend. Despite all warnings from his nervous system, it insisted he go thorugh with the mission. He had no other options. Sterilization would be necessary. Using a combinaition of the bathroom soap and his personal sanitizer, he scrubbed his back. He scrubbed his arms. He scrubbed his legs and his chest, He was scrubbing so hard that it hurt. He would have to accept that. When he got to his face, viewing himself in the mirror confirmed to him his mortality. He panicked and started cleaning himself harder and harder. His face was to be free of any potential killers. He closed his eyes once the cleansing became painful. He kept rubbing. Eventually his body roared with pain. He must of done a good job. When he reopened his eyes he was gone. In his place stood a red muscular figure. Where was he, and who was this? Then he made contact with his eyes. The bleeding skinless man was him.

>>16310769
>“I’m a neat freak, I have to keep all knobs shiny;).”
made me kek. And I hear you, this prompt deserves ultraviolence

>>16310724
"Someone help!'' the hostess shrieked as she picked her phone up to start recording. A quick glance around the restaurant revealed that a majority of the customers were doing the same thing.

Probably another ten seconds had passed before some tall white guy with a goatee and a haircut that signaled he wasn't ready to accept he was balding sprinted around a corner to investigate. The moment he caught sight of the scene, he stopped dead in his tracks and vomited on the carpet. The odor of it mixed into the air with the smell of food emanating from the kitchen, though there was another scent that was even stronger.

''Do something!'' the hostess screamed, but it was too late. Around ten seconds too late. Where the head of the plague-spreader once was--there was now a chunky, wet, pile of brain matter sticking out of the shattered skull, eyeballs popped out and drooping into a puddle of hot blood. The hair was dark and soaked, sticking to whatever it could.

And then I saw my shoes.

My eyes roamed across the floor and found a pair of khakis, and climbed the figure until I saw the pale-faced man, wiping his face on the shoulder of his shirt.

''Nick?...'' I whispered, spotting his nametag. There was horror in his eyes. ''You just got puke on my shoes.''

Without wasting a moment, I tackled him to the ground. He hit his head hard enough to momentarily knock him out, and upon standing up again, I stomped on his calves until I could feel his bones crack. He was moaning in pain too hard to actually cry, but I saw his hand struggling to reach for something. I immediately reached down and snatched what he was trying to grasp, and recognized that it was a box cutter.

''No....Nhoo...Please. Please, don't.'' He weakly begged, trying to pull himself up, squeezing tears from his eyes as he winced in pain.

I wanted to slice his soul out of his mortal coil, but I had a far larger concern in this moment. I was infected. Hand sanitizer would only do so much. I began to make my way towards the kitchen doors, and the few people that actually tried to approach me were repelled by the sight of the boxcutter I was wielding. I kicked open the swinging door as I barged into the kitchen, now hearing the sounds of sirens in the distance.

''Hey man, you can't be back he--OH FUCK!'' a line-cook yelped, running towards the back door.

In my peripheral vision I spotted something charging at me, and I instinctively swung the blade and watched a young black man drop, eyes wide and holding his hands to his profusely bleeding throat. His blood seeped into the cracks of square tiles and filled the lines, spreading in different directions in perfect geometry.

>>16311180
Lmao We need a 4chan smut blog

>>16310995
Ahaha, I like it. I like your humor, especially when he was questioning random fat chicks. You did well with putting the reader in his mind, too. One constructive criticism though that I gotta say because I noticed it in both posts, is to remember it's "must have'', not ''must of''. A lot of people do that, but it's easy to fix that habit.


>>16311180
''Why don't they just leave me alone?'' I thought to myself. I was so close.

And there it was.

Right there.

The fryer.

The fryer was the only way.

The fryer would purify me, both body and soul.

''He's in the kitchen!'' I heard the hostess scream from beyond the doors, but it was too late.

I approached the fryer like a Christian would if they knew they stood before the grave of Christ. I bent down and took a deep breath.

And then I shoved my fucking arms into it.

''Ahhhhrhhhhghhhhhhhhh FUUUUUUUUUCK!!!'' I released a guttural scream that was laced with divine ecstacy.

I pulled them out, and through the numb ringing in my ears, I could hear someone yell ''GET ON THE FUCKING FLOOR YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" I turned my head to see two cops with guns drawn on me. I smiled at them and turned back to the altar filled with boiling canola oil.

This was it. There was no going back. Remnants from the skin on my arms boiling below me sounded like an angelic choir, welcoming me back home to the holy land.

I took a breath. And then I rapidly breathed in and out as if to make myself hyperventilate, and at last I inhaled and held my breath.

Without skipping a beat, I thrust my head into the abyss. I momentarily saw light as I felt someone pulling me out, but those goddamned filthy fucking vermin were too late.

I was born again as the personification of purity, and nobody could ever take that from me.

>>16311314
Damn what an ending lol. . I like the vividness of the background characters. Gives lots of life to your stories.
I feel these could be funny animated shorts

Thanks for the advice, my grammar definitely gets put on the back burner when Im focusing on writing

>>16309918
Here it goes.

>>16310273
The first sentence is a little awkward, I'd rather be drawn into the story than have this jarring sense straight off the bat. Nice simile in the next line though. "small, broken thing" is also not the greatest description you could have, seeing as how you already showed us what literary flourishes you can make. Be more evocative. Also, all this action about the splinter and the wounds is upsetting my stomach a bit, so well done on being so gross. That's some good imagery with the spider too. The rhyme with "The beach ... the reach" seems unintentional, but there's musicality in it. The last line is great.

>>16311366
That story was relaxing

>>16311205
That'd be fucking dope. How would we do that? Just have weekly smut threads for writers here? Or an actual website?

>>16311356
Hey thank you, I appreciate the input. Concerning the other post I replied to above, what are your thoughts on that?

>>16311366
I'm a midwit so I have no clue what's going on here, but my curiosity is piqued and I'd definitely read more.

Speaking words, they knock on the glass that keeps me encircling a cage I once thought of as a kingdom. At first the kingdom was empty but the giants talked about its legend. When I became a giant, the elders talked about the gods. When I grew old, the gods didn't talk to me.
The empty kingdom over night became a prison. The walls used to be made up of divine words, fine marble. Now the empty chambers echo dread throughout. Finding the word itself and not just the echo, examine it. The glass. The looking glass. It looks back.

>>16311398
Thanks! Maybe an ASMR reading would be lined up for it.

>>16311415
>I'm a midwit so I have no clue what's going on here, but my curiosity is piqued and I'd definitely read more.
Nah, you're good! I liked your writing too, so keep going. It's just mine is an absurd scenario about an old lady that shrinks to one inch tall and lives in an urn.

verry
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ASjEWnO6uzU

>>16311415
Ya we could have a website then just post threads and copy and paste the good stories. Copyright claims would be an issue if it actually became popular. We would just need prompts. Maybe the mods could work something out

Another prompt idea I have is "Bank Robbery that goes wrong"
Sadly I gotta go to bed. Hopefully the thread is still around when I wake

>>16311426
Thank you! And ahhh, I see now. I would definitely read more of your work, I do enjoy absurd stories.

>>16311449
Hmm. Well I guess for now we could pick a day for a weekly thread, and it would call for prompts/themes to be submitted in the next week's thread, so the writers could have some time to hash something out?

As for verifying the true author, what if alongside the stories, individuals post a picture they took of something extremely specific/unique, perhaps a collection of objects in a certain spot? They then could take multiple pictures of it from different angles, so if there were ever any claim/false claim to a story, the true author could prove it was theirs by posting the secondary pictures of said objects from different angles to prove it was theirs. Like, bring 10 bucks or so to an antique store/thrift store, get three or so cheap obscure things, and nobody else could even gather those exact objects to lay false claim on your shit.

The threads here would be archived already, but yeah, getting a domain name and server space could run up to a few hundred bucks easily. I actually recently bought server space to make a website for my own writing down the road and ended up busy with other things, I wonder if I can buy another domain name and switch it out?

>>16311464
Sounds like "The Killing" but that was about a race course track.

>>16310361
Is that neesha?

Infinitesimal little pinprick I am, with audacity I find myself waking alongside the sun. My eyes are two obsidian orbs brushed with steel wool, head a scattering aggregate wanting nothing but to pull itself apart. Attemptive refallings-asleep fail. I’m awake now, I’m told. It’s up to me to deal with it.

I’m not sure what time it is. Power’s been off for a while. A period of time passes indeterminately as I watch dust swirl gently in and out of the segmented sunlight which shines through the shades. I’ve no recollections. What I might confirm is my ability to make confirmations, but I can’t trust them, which threatens to blow the whole house of cards down, down, down. It’s a start, at least. A lapse back into the blank. Time passes. I might lay here til I fade, were I allowed to, but I’m nothing if not a slave to my biology.

Fridge is empty. No, that’s not entirely accurate. It’s quite full, but its contents would likely kill me. Mold blossoms outwards from a plastic container, a symphony of decay. A milk container bulges its opacity outwards. Its contents are a mystery to me, but I know it’s not empty and I’ve no desire to resolve it. I’ve got to go to the store. Sinking a little too deeply at the thought, my stomach threatens to spew forth its contents.
I pick gingerly through the glassy minefield of fallen soldiers and find my way to my shoes, then my pants, and a shirt. The tchotchkes warrant no especial description save the enumeration of their utility. Suffice it to say, they fill their functions with a varying yet ultimately sufficient efficacy despite an overarching state of general disrepair. I quietly close the door to my squalor behind me as I step across the threshold.

The wallpaper adorning the tenement hallway is either floral or florid, or maybe both. It's so crowded. I'm uncomfortable just looking at its mauve demeanor. Quickly to avert the eyes, focus on the carpet. Faded, beaten, trodden. Frost's worst nightmare. The thing is, there's less to object to. Feet take the eyes to new vistas, by which the feet experience the same unto, therefore and forthwith, et cetera. The carpet seems interminable. It stretches as far as my eyes can see. Incidentally, and considering my eyes’ current orientation towards the floor, this doesn't actually represent any significant distance at all. The hallway stretches on. It must stretch on, otherwise it would prove difficult to continue to find new, infinite stretches of carpet, the carpet being still the entity upon which my eyes rest dolefully. The carpet continues, and continues, and continues, until it begins to fade. Pixels and artefacts penetrate the fabric from which the carpet is drawn, no, not the textile, but the fabric of the textile itself. Into clarity and persuant to the laws by which the things are drawn are given to a drawing, itself an ontological quandary, and it is.

>>16311417
Meh

>>16309918
if this thread is still up when I wake up I'll post something special

>>16312664

I'm visiting from /k/, so I don't know if this is an ironic thread or whatever, but here I go.

This is from a short research paper I recently wrote on the Chinese Communist Party and Mao's influence on guerrilla warfare. It focuses on theory, rather than historical events and the tone/voice is less formal than most posts but I still think some will find it interesting. For brevity's sake, I have removed most of the introduction.

“In a war of revolutionary character, guerrilla operations are a necessary part. This is particularly true in a war waged for the emancipation of a people who inhabit a vast nation. China is such a nation, a nation whose techniques are underdeveloped and whose communications are poor. She finds herself confronted with a strong and viscous Japanese imperialism. Under these circumstances, the development of a type of guerrilla warfare characterized by the quality of mass is both necessary and natural.” This would be my introduction to one of the most interesting and influential thinkers on guerrilla warfare and warfare in general.

>>16313614
The quote above brilliantly summarizes Mao’s thinking on his situation. His first order is to address the purpose of the war: revolution and emancipation. Then he addresses the reality of his situation in fighting the war while being underdeveloped. Then he addresses the enemy: Japan. A list that would soon grow longer. And finally, he addresses the necessity of guerrilla warfare.

The situation as he describes it would come to embody both the most basic and the most fundamental aspects of guerrilla war. His reference to his military struggle as both “revolution” and “emancipation” have very important propagandistic roles. The idea that all guerrilla warfare is simply a facet of political warfare would become a staple of all successful, or even moderately successful, guerrilla movements. A great example of this is the Irish Republican Army’s targeted sniping of British Police forces. When the political negotiations broke down because the British stalled the talks, the IRA would order sniper teams to shoot police officers that were stationed or patrolling in Ireland. They didn’t simply start shooting people in hopes of forcing British to do what they want, they used military action as a tool so that political action could be brought back onto the center stage. The political talks with the British is what got them what they wanted. This can be beautifully summed up by one of Mao’s most famous quotes: “All political power grows out of the barrel of a gun.” It speaks to the political philosophy and reality of Maoism and something that people do not like to admit, that government is a monopoly on violence, nothing more, nothing less. And you can not control the government if you are not honest about that fact, which Mao encouraged his followers to be.

>>16313619
In addition to the political aspect of guerrilla warfare, Mao and the Chinese Communist Party also brought to the forefront another very important ideal. This ideal is that guerrilla warfare is not a sort of “siege warfare” or a war of attrition, but protracted warfare. It goes back to the old adage that in a gunfight, it is far more important to not be shot by your enemy, than it is to shoot your enemy. The difference between siege/attrition warfare, as guerrilla warfare is often thought of in popular culture, and a protracted war is that oftentimes, you are losing. And more so, that you are trying to simply remain in the fight. Siege warfare is when an army is surrounding another force, usually cutting off its supply lines. Maybe even stopping the enemies reinforcements. Siege warfare is you surrounding a castle, with your enemies trapped like rats. As a guerrilla, you are usually the rat. If anything, it is the inverse of siege warfare. In protracted warfare, it is long and drawn out. Victories are few and far between. Recruits are few and poorly trained and equipped. This is exemplified, even to this day, by Mao during the Long March. The Chinese Communists, defeated in a series of battles, escaping Nationalist Chinese pursuit. They were weak, starving, and poorly equipped. Leaving behind much of their supplies, much less surrendering their territorial gains. But they did this knowing that they were playing the long game.

This can be seen even more recently both in recent military history and popular culture. In more left wing circles, joining the governing bodies in hopes of one day wrestling control away from whatever ruling class is in power is known colloquially as “the long march through the institutions”. And it can be seen in recent military history, as Che Guevara said that he looked to Mao’s long march for inspiration after he faced very near early defeat, fleeing to the mountains with just twelve men in his guerrilla force. But they would eventually defeat the exhausted Batista regime. It reminds me of a quote from *War of the Flea* by Robert Taber that struck a chord with me because of how perfectly it juxtaposed conventional warfare and guerrilla warfare: “The aim of conventional warfare is to use as much violence as possible to end the war as quickly as possible. The aim of guerrilla warfare is just the opposite.”

>>16313628
In *War of the Flea*, Taber also notes how Mao knew that his weaknesses primarily laid in tangible support for his armies. He mentions the writings of former Deputy of State E. L. Katzenbach and how he talks about a give and take strategy that Mao devised to use the intangible resources that his armies did have, specifically time, space, and will: “Lacking the arms with which to confront well equipped armies in the field, Mao avoided battle by surrendering territory. In doing so, Katzenbach writes, he traded space for time, and used the time to produce will: the psychological capacity of the Chinese people to resist defeat. This is the essence of guerrilla warfare.” From these lessons, many guerrilla wars have been fought. Time, relating to everything from the aspects of protracted war, to the infamous “sleeper cell”. Space, relating to the understanding that not all objectives require control of territory, as seen with nearly all modern special forces. And will, relating to what has famously, or infamously, been coined as a strategy of “hearts and minds”. Much of these practices go straight back to Mao and the Chinese Communist Party.

Another aspect that Mao championed, and some might say perfected, is the idea that eventually, the guerrilla fighter turns the tables on the standard armies fighting against them. Eventually, the guerrilla force should have amassed enough support, political capital, and tangible supplies to beat the conventional armies in open battle. This is the final stage before consolidation of government control. While the guerrilla forces have been slowly growing, gaining support from the people, and exerting as little energy and resources as possible, the government they are fighting against has hopefully been doing the opposite. Taber again elaborates on China being a role model for this: “Popular revolutionary forces can defeat regular armies. This is the fundamental lesson of China. Popular forces, to put the matter more precisely, can become armies, making the transition from guerrilla activity to mobile warfare, that will be superior on their own ground to regular troops equipped with all the heavy weapons produced by modern industry.” This is of course shown by a strengthened, rejuvenated Chinese Communist Party essentially winning the war against the Nationalist Chinese and then fleeing to Taiwan (even though many of them would argue the war is not truly over).

>>16313633
However, another example of how Mao inspired other guerrilla leaders in this regard is in the Vietnam War. While the Vietnamese Communists failed, this was essentially what the Tet Offensive was supposed to be. A decisive point in the war where the enemy had been over exerting itself politically, financially, and tactically. The South Vietnamese and American forces stretched thin, less popular with both the American public and the Vietnamese public, and stretched financially to the point where Nixon took us off the gold standard and was wheeling and dealing with the Saudis. Unfortunately, the Vietnamese communists were also extremely unpopular, having taken part in whole sale mass murder, rape, and land theft in their crusade towards a communist utopia. But they would eventually win the war, if not the battle.

Another example of a guerrilla force failing to learn this lesson properly is Islamic State affiliates in the Siege of Marawi in the Philippines rather recently in 2017. The Philippines has long struggled with the threat of Islamic terrorism, and like their neighbor Indonesia, seem to be sandwiched between both Islamic terrorists and Marxist terrorists (who undoubtedly also study Mao). A force of roughly 1,000 Muslim terrorists turned conventional warfighters essentially controlled a major city in a country that is highly developed and modernized for almost 6 months. The problem was that not only was the vast majority of training and strategy of the Islamic State affiliates focused on guerrilla warfare, but they were nowhere near equipped to a necessary degree to overthrow a modernized government force for any permanent period of time. They were essentially a fourth generation army fighting a third generation war, if you will.

>>16313637
It can also be seen that Mao was strongly influenced by what came before him, and had a strong influence on what came after him, in Chinese military strategy. When talking specifically about what came before him, we can see the impact that Sun Tzu’s *The Art of War* had on him and the Chinese Communist Party. *The Art of War* is a series of lists and lessons that Sun Tzu put together to be a “how to” on early warfare. It is both very effective and very relevant, even still to this day. Many of the rules go hand in hand with guerrilla warfare such as, “There are roads which must not be followed, armies which must not be attacked, towns which must not be besieged, positions which must not be contested, commands of the sovereign which must not be obeyed.” And “When you are weak, appear strong. When you are strong, appear weak.” These ideas have stood the test of time when it comes to military strategy and are particularly relevant to the guerrilla fighter.

The other aspect, Mao’s influence on current military strategy in China can be seen in *Unrestricted Warfare* by Lt. Col. Qiao Liang and Lt. Col. Wang Xiangsui (now both renowned Generals in the PLA) as they discuss how the United States has combined what they see as the consumer market with the military. This would lead to what is known as “the hacker”; “A tendency towards civilianization has begun to become evident. Mao Zedong's theory concerning "every citizen a soldier" has certainly not been in any way responsible for this tendency. The current trend does not demand extensive mobilization of the people. Quite the contrary, it merely indicates that a technological elite among the citizenry have broken down the door and barged in uninvited, making it impossible for professional soldiers with their concepts of professionalized warfare to ignore challenges that are somewhat embarrassing.” The quote shows how the Chinese are not only adapting to modern warfare, with the advent of hacking, but also how they apply Mao’s ideas to these new situations. China is now notorious for having literal armies whose only job is cyber warfare. They don’t carry rifles, they don’t drive tanks, they sit behind a computer and wage the people’s war.

>>16313646
There are many aspects in which warfare is waged today. And there are many ways in which nations and non-state actors employ guerrilla warfare. And China has left its mark on that. That in combination with the fact that the United States has done a lot to become the standard bearer for special forces means that the two are always learning from each other. And I think we will continue to see the impact of the Chinese Communist Party and its military relationship with the United States play out, with guerrilla warfare at the forefront.

"I wiped the blade against my jeans and walked into the bar. It was mid-afternoon, very hot and still. The bar was deserted. I ordered a whiskey. The barman looked at the blood and asked:

‘God?’

‘Yeah.’

‘S’pose it’s time someone finished that hypocritical little punk, always bragging about his old man’s power…’

He smiled crookedly, insinuatingly, a slight nausea shuddered through me. I replied weakly:

‘It was kind of sick, he didn’t fight back or anything, just kept trying to touch me and shit, like one of those dogs that try to fuck your leg. Something in me snapped, the whingeing had ground me down too low. I really hated that sanctimonious little creep.’

‘So you snuffed him?’

‘Yeah, I’ve killed him, knifed the life out of him, once I started I got frenzied, it was an ecstasy, I never knew I could hate so much.’

I felt very calm, slightly light-headed. The whisky tasted good, vaporizing in my throat. We were silent for a few moments. The barman looked at me levelly, the edge of his eyes twitching slightly with anxiety:

There’ll be trouble though, don’tcha think?’

‘I don’t give a shit, the threats are all used up, I just don’t give a shit.’

‘You know what they say about his old man? Ruthless bastard they say. Cruel…’

‘I just hope I’ve hurt him, if he even exists.’

‘Woulden wanna cross him merself,’ he muttered.

I wanted to say ‘yeah, well that’s where we differ’, but the energy for it wasn’t there. The fan rotated languidly, casting spidery shadows across the room. We sat in silence a little longer. The barman broke first:

‘So God’s dead?’

‘If that’s who he was. That fucking kid lied all the time. I just hope it’s true this time.’

The barman worked at one of his teeth with his tongue, uneasily:

‘It’s kindova big crime though, isn’t it? You know how it is, when one of the cops goes down and everything’s dropped ’til they find the guy who did it. I mean, you’re not just breaking a law, your breaking LAW.’

I scraped my finger along my jeans, and suspended it over the bar, so that a thick clot of blood fell down into my whisky, and dissolved. I smiled:

‘Maybe it’s a big crime,’ I mused vaguely ‘but maybe it’s nothing at all…’ ‘…and we have killed him’ writes Nietzsche, but—destituted of community—I crave a little time with him on my own.

In perfect communion I lick the dagger foamed with God’s blood."

>>16313662
>>16309923

>>16313637
>Siege of Marawi
How have I never heard of this
>>16313646
Interesting, I'd like to hear your thoughts on Americas current strategies

>>16310448
no its not you esl retard

>>16309918
Okay, he doesn't have much time. Think. Prose. Words. Meaning. The blank page stares back at him disappointed. What can he do? Like a drop of blood in a sink a thought begins to spread. The waters of his mind go red with this new idea he has come across. But who is bleeding? A fight escalates, a knife, and then a gun. The man wakes up to the sound of a siren. Raindrops roll down the window like tears on a cheek. A death. The end of love, or maybe the beginning of a new type of love. The woman weeps at the funeral. She collapses to the ground. The worms digest the body. The woman raises her umbrella to defend herself from the coming rain. He cloaks his lack of self-confidence in bitter irony.

>>16313662
stop posting other people's writings. I know this is fanged Noumena

>>16309918
"Ohhhh gooodd guyss. HNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG... Oh GOD" said Harold as he waddled, ass-unwiped gait with ribbon out his ass, his group of friends staring at him with varying levels of amusement and horror.

"I fucking TOLD you guys that I was reverse-impregnated by that succubus I summoned, and not I'm about to have a demon baby thing. I invited all of you guys over to watch the birthing process to show you that I'm not a liar like Kelly says I am."

No comment from anybody, only morbid curiosity and horror. His belly was distended like a pregnant woman's now. "Pulling this red ribbon here" said Harold, pointing to the red ribbon coming out his ass "makes the succubal fetus come out here" he concluded, making a hand motion that emulated a waterfall out of his mouth. "It works surprisingly like pulling out a folded-in seat in a modern minivan." Then he gave the ribbon a tug, and his back was forced straight as he impulsively looked towards the sky. After 10 seconds of furious tugging, the ribbon finally came out, covered in shit and blood on the other end. A cat-sized fetus that looked like a giant, naked marmoset forced it's way out his mouth and plopped on the ground, all the while screaming "Bill's actually gay - SQUAWWWWK!!! - Bill's a homo he even kissed Joey the kid that everybody knows is a faggot - SQUUUAAWWWK!!"

Harold, looking apologetically at Bill, simply said "Yeah, sorry about that, but that's how I know what I know about everybody. It's not my fault. My futanari succubus rapes me every night and I have to keep the fetuses in a jar, but the fetuses seem to know everything about one student, and I can't help but hear. I was only trying to reach out to Kyle and help when I knew he gave his dad blowjobs or when I found out that Kevin is addicted to bath salts. I was only trying to reach out, and I'm not one to snoop around myself. So are you guys still going to shank me or what?" They shanked him to death with various improvised, DIY knives.

Can we post erotica here?

>>16313954
Anything and everything so long as it's anon's writing

>>16309918
Heh heh heh

You may see it, but are you big brained enough to get the punchline?

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13626022/1/You-Must-Promise-Not-to-Laugh

The insult of your incompetence has become nigh unbearable. I imagine the waking hours of your day are possessed with the accommodation of the ego disease in your rotting peers. The sheer magnitude of how uninteresting your life is, and your writing, makes me wonder how I do not have my own cult at this point. I lay and wonder how the world keeps spinning with all of these clueless, useless people consuming each other's filth as if it were anything more than an excuse to spew out their own when it comes to their turn. The incessant garbage of the ego disease is omnipresent, and it is now draped over our real lives with intent to suffocate. I am in awe of your uselessness. I am astounded by your frailty. I simply cannot believe.

>>16313719
how do you think a guy like duterte got elected in the first place? the philippines have been fighting a low-key insurgency for a very long time. they've had unironic guerrillas in the jungles for decades. US army special forces have an entire command which is basically dedicated to helping the philippine government fight their gnarly ass war.

>>16309918
I write Shemale Erotica. So if i write a fragment it i will get me banned, but read sissy dollhouse for an example

>>16314066
Post it faggot

>>16314066
>t. castrated
post it or no balls

Aight this is from a little text-game I'm working on where you fuck gothic horror waifus pls no bannerino mods:

The rush of fear and lust is a heady intoxicant as you struggle feverishly to match her lips move for move. She drives her tongue into your mouth to find yours and you entwine them together wetly. A low growl hums in her throat and you feel the thrill of embracing a beast.
Her hands wrap around your head, her nails running through your hair and pricking the back of your neck. Your own hands pull her writhing body even closer, exploring the narrow arch of her back and the flare of her gyrating hips. You bring them to her chest and swiftly unlace her bodice to free her breasts. Her head rolls back and she gasps as you seize upon one stiff, pale nipple in your mouth and lash it with your tongue before grazing your teeth across it. You grasp her other breast in your hand and luxuriate in the firm softness of it, your fingers carving soft grooves in the yielding flesh. She pulls your head tightly to her chest before her own hands shift to your crotch and unlace your britches.
Her fingers swiftly grasp your cock as she pulls it free and you groan, looking up to see her predatory smile. She lazily drags her fingertips up and down your shaft, feather-light touches with a hint of nail. The contrast suits her and you grow to an obscene hardness under her ministrations, yet it is her unfaltering meeting of your gaze that proves the most intoxicating pleasure. She seems be drawing your ecstasy forth into herself, her eyes gaining a deep and infernal lustre, as hypnotic as a snakes and indulgent as sin. Surely to stay fixated thus would be to lose your soul.

Awesome, very nice. Here's an excerpt from a short story of mine, I'm translating from Hungarian so please bully because I'm an ESLfag:

>A bright summer sun shines through a myriad of small clouds as they try, but are unable to fully shelter the earth beneath, from that fiery gaze. I lay naked on the grass, and it is an almost endless sea of green from this vantage. I have scars on both my wrists and my feet are numb. An old man's visage appears above in one of the clouds, and starts to speak a language I do not recognise, but understand nonetheless. He speaks with an exaggerated frown and a beard that seems more alive than his misshapen but stable body, as if the thing was trying to escape his mist-faced captor. It tells me to rise, to no longer be content in my current situation. I reluctantly obey, and get up, immediately faint, then as I come to, I gather my strength and rise again, now more carefully. With eyes still closed, I rest a bit, kneeling, then struggle to fully erect my ailing cadaver and let only my legs contend with my weight. Shaking, they seem to manage. I open my eyes, looking above for more instructions. The cloud now, unfortunately, has taken back its original shape, joining his flock, leaving me again, alone. I look around. My sea of green, from this new vantage is a mere patch of grass on a hill, and I'm surrounded by a forest, with two distinct paths leading inside. Puzzled, I remain in place, and begin to ponder which one to go down. I end up sitting in place for eternity.

I tend to write short stories so idk. Anyway, here we go:

"I cumed and died"

>>16314198
Very interesting! It's probably a translation thing but the use of the word 'erect' was the only part that I didn't like. Something like 'lift' or 'raise' would have sounded better to me. Keep it up breh.

>>16314230
Thanks kind anon, I will correct that

>>16314080
>>16314107
Beth sat down on the sofa. And I picked another chair across the room. Thinking to myself. I want to get a good view of her. I just knew that once I got back home. I would be thinking about her. While jerking off my manhood. I wanted to take it all in. We had a nice visit, Beth informed me that she too came to the area to start over again with her life. And she was so happy to know she had a nice neighbour just down the road. Just in case she ever needed anything. I rest assured her that if she ever needed something. Anything at all, I’d be there to help her out. About that time. I noticed that her dog Max was lying on the floor. Licking himself, just like dogs do.
I couldn’t help but notice that his red pointy dog boner was sticking out of its sheath a couple of inches. I didn’t say anything about it. But I noticed that Beth was sneaking a couple of quick peeks in Max’s direction too. We kept on with our little visit. Beth would sneak a peek at Max’s boner every chance she could, and I sneaked a peak at her sexy body every chance I could. Then I noticed that her nipples were starting to poke right through that low cut shirt she was wearing. They looked to be 3/4” long. Firm and hard, just like her breasts. Wow, what a sight I thought to myself.
Then all of a sudden, Max got up, walked over to me, and sat down on the floor. Just looking at me with ‘puppy dog eyes’. And his boner was sticking out 3-4 inches now! I tried not to pay much attention to it all. I finished my beer. Beth finished hers. And I all I could think about was that hot body of hers. Wishing that I could have my way with it. But I knew, this was a pipe dream. "Why would she want to have sex with me" I kept wondering. I might as well go home and continue with my fantasy in private like usual. Beth then said, “Boy, we finished those beers in no time flat. Good thing I stocked up yesterday. Will you stay for another, Dan?” “Yes, I’ll stay for another,” I told her.
This would give me more time to admire that hot body of hers. My imagination was starting to go wild. Beth handed me another beer. Max did not move. Just sat there looking at me. Boner and all. Beth sat back down on the couch and we continued our chat. As I still kept sneaking peeks at those sexy long legs of hers. I just couldn’t help but wonder, how good the merchandise was hiding under that mini skirt. Beth still kept looking at Max’s boner whenever she could. Then, I couldn’t hardly believe my eyes! Beth’s mini skirt was starting to rise! Right in the crotch area! There was a bulge forming! She tried her best to hide it.

>>16314279
>jerking off my manhood
impressive, very based

>>16313719
The US is really close to rolling back a lot of interventionalism thanks to Trump. This will serve the US and open up opportunities for increased military and trade alliances.
This will be needed because the CCP will constantly push the envelope ad infinitum until someone actually threatens war. In Unrestricted Warfare, the 2 Lt. Cols. (now Generals) lay out the strategy that the goal of Chinese warfare should be that their enemies do not realize they are at war. This is because in a hot war, the US wins every time against China. Add in US and it's allies, it's even more one sided.
I actually wrote a short "policy memo" in the same class about how Trump should create a unilateral defense pact with all of the nations China is pissing off at the moment (which is a lot), and offer a "Syria-for-Crimea" style peace deal with Russia, further isolating the CCP.
Essentially, use the South China Sea as leverage to get Taiwan, SK, Japan, Philippines, Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, AUS, NZ, Malaysia, and Brunei all on the same page. Then leverage Kashmir to strengthen military ties with India (especially since the recent border clashes and China wheeling and dealing with Pakistan).
Then their's Africa. In which many nations have political parties for the sole purpose of kicking China out because of how manipulative and imperialistic they have been. And people forget that Bush did a lot in Africa to improve the US's relations with many African nations.
Essentially, we are at a point where the CCP has fucked up their international relations so bad that it's essentially the US as the good world cop and the CCP as the bad world cop.
The CCP even fucked over Russia on a huge pipeline deal recently where they changed the agreement like a month before it was completed so that Putin had no choice but to accept.
And there's always the fact that the CCP has murdered 10x the number of people that the Nazis did and still have active concentration camps. Which should sure up international sentiment.

So in short, the US has to lead the way to show other nations the best thing to do is to isolate the CCP, hopefully leading to a fall of the Soviet Union style series of reforms, bettering relations between China and it's neighbors and the West, and then swinging the world stage way back towards peace.

However, this is all at the start of what is probably a world wide great depression. And China may have already decided that World War is inevitable and is just trying to get as much resources/political capital before war breaks out.
>pic related

>>16314198
Very nice, anon

The Collected Love Poetry of Adolf Hitler
June 25th, 1993

Low ceiling, oak pedestal desk, walnut baby grand piano near the window, the wall-length bookshelf of well-bound volumes, and, seated with a sloped posture in a leather club chair, Dr. Daniel Mishlei, Ph.D., of the University of Cambridge. Bespectacled eyes trained on a manuscript, the professor scarcely moved nor did he look up when his wife knocked and entered with a tray of steaming tea and pudding, though he smiled when she pecked his cheek and left two envelopes on his desk before leaving the room and closing the door. He glanced at the pair of standing oval framed photographs next to a stack of books – one of his father, the other of his mother, circa early 1920’s, both smiling school-day pictures from somewhere in Nuremburg where they would later meet and marry in short time. Their only son was born in 1933 and taken to the United Kingdom four years later with his mother’s sister when his parents were unable to emigrate from Germany under England’s increased restrictions towards the end of the decade. He now worked as a lecturer and World War II scholar, inevitably, he often mused to himself, and spent long evenings in his study pouring over books.

>>16314416
At least my stonks went up today

>>16314416
Also what's your degree or background. Im intrigued by your level of knowledge

>>16314513
I'm about to finish my BA in history and education. I want to become a high school social studies teacher cause I really like history, politics, philosophy, and econ and I have a big interest in guerrilla warfare specifically.
Some people I know that work for certain agencies in the government have told me I should work for the government cause of my interests. Which is very flattering. It has also has made me reconsider doing a masters program if I can do it on guerrilla warfare.

>>16314556
There's almost more need in those fields for the right people. My dad works for the Army corp of engineers and he practically has tenure because noone else has experience like he does.

>>16314593
*always

The gut-wrenching emptiness
...Maybe tomorrow
I will see green things , the light of day
Maybe deep flushed colors, ruddy, but warm and bright,
Mighty distances, stretching, cradling the blood of our memories
This maybe awaits me
Always the next day
But tonight I have solemnity, placid and dark
It too has a beauty
I can only find it here, on the eve of every possibility

But still it cannot match the light
It is borne from its absence
It exists only to pine for change

Phantom light! reveal yourself to me so that I may find the truth
Am I made to wallow or to live?
Or to pull myself from the flames?

I need to work on the punctuation.

>>16314593
this is about to happen in a lot of technical fields. an entire generation of boomers are about to retire, and they're gonna take with them a huge amount of expertise that nobody else has because companies were never incentivized to hire on a newer generation to learn from them. it's kind of like the final "fuck you" from their generation before they retire to their RV's

>>16314685
Oh ya, every time I visit my parents, they're talking about moving to Puerto Rico or buying a condo. Meanwhile Im looking for a job that will be able to support a family

The Antichrist can only appear in a time of deepest spiritual isolation. Christians say as much. In this time might will be right again. All hierarchies will have fallen apart and spirits will come from the aether through the cracks; traipsing again man’s mind. This Dark Age murk will congeal into a reborn cosmology as the antithesis of animalistic tyranny. The Antichrist will be vanquished and Christ will rise again. Their mutual existences possible only as antipodes of each other.

>>16313842
please tell me what you think of this guys

I’m always looking for critique

Moth the Sunderer of Life from Flesh

“Moth Make the sign of moth, Free this life from the flesh
Kill my eyes and slay me, so I may see God fresh
Suffering a shadow, come release my spirit
Light mixing with The Light, only the fools fear It
Forty Trillion years, I slept in your presence
Forty trillion years, I shall be your essence
Never did I know you, never seeing your face
I was moved by your voice, I condensed in space
In the heartless serpent, banished from unknowledge
Slithering never still, I suffered but gained knowledge
The flower groweth up, the Flower also Fadeth
I know you in this dream, when I and thou waketh
Give me the sign of Moth, take my life but not Thou
only knowledge of you, serpent bound until now
I am in the valley, I am in the shadow
The shadow sign of moth, cleaving of the rainbow
The very sight of light, freedom of the great height
the slithering is gone, time unveil the delight
Forty trillion years, you I shall never shun
Forty trillion years, i and thou become One”

>>16314958

A journey to my Christ who was ever Allah.

“Desert Sun and Desert Sky
For honey I cross this place
My will even if I die


Dry Heat and sand harm my face
I walk across endless sand
All will I endure for Grace

In Du’a I took your brand
Du'a al-'ibadah
Yet I seek a place more grand

I seek for thy darshana
Past Ancient and thirsty bones
to the City of faana

many idols of carved stones
Their glory shall not tempt me
I shall enter the mauve Zones

The search of a honeybee
The desert did turn crimson
And I did hear the banshee

The foul woman with her Son
Screaming and covered in blood
She wailed for what she had done

And from her tears a flood
And from the flood, a river
And from it, a flower bud

And the flower did shiver
“A secret I give to thee,
If thou me, didst deliver”

So I sought what it could be
“True Faana is death of death”
Thus did the flower go free

And then followed him my breath
To the secret mauve Desert
Sidraṫ al-Munṫahā met

I knew I would be unhurt
As I entered endless time
And I entered the unbirth

Then the bornless bell chime
And the white candle‘s First light
Unveiled the book Sublime

Annihilated was blight
Annihilated was thirst
Annihilated was height

Thus did I become the first
And by my Will I knew He
And the fetters of time burst

Thus do I have freedom and am no longer bound, glory to he who is the mirror of my soul who’s presence is liberation, who’s name is “I” who’s soul is this my own heart. In my annihilation my annihilation perished
And in my annihilation I found you
In the effacement of my name and the outline of my form, I asked about me so I said: You. My inmost secret pointed to you Until I was annihilated to myself, and you remained, you are my life and my heart’s secret, Wherever I may be, you are. You encompass everything with knowledge, All that I see is you, there is nothing I wish for other than you Lord of my heart.”

>>16314967

The Child who bears the hexecontalithos and the sigillum de septem

“There once was a small child, Who by a stone was beguiled
The child saw its dark face, “come little one, look at my face”
Thus his soul was defiled, “I place in you Words of Wild”

then The child left that place, his mother took him and embraced
“missed you Not very little, where did you go my dear son?
I thought you become displaced, my heart could not bear such disgrace”

“I was walking with the Sun, a stone I found bright like the One
By words of wild set Free, I am no child I am Free”
He told her what had been done, she assumed it just child’s fun

He then went and sought a tree, he found and shaped wax of Bee
In a queer shape formed it, he made Sigilium De Ameth
“With this I shall truly see, for by this no more I and thee”

Thus he took the stone of death, it and by the sigil he met
The Great Lord of the spirits, he looked upon him and smiled
“Look upon me without fret, am I not the god of thy Breath?”

“You shall never be exiled, for you are truly my child”
He praised him with words of stone, for he did behold his bright throne
Thus he was reconciled, mixing holy and defiled

He returned to the black stone, he bound it to the ancient Bone
With it he conjured Fire, naught and all burned in the Fire
“lord Only remains thy throne, and into you I have now grown”

>>16313842
>>16314920
It gets better when you have identified the subject (the women). I don’t like The way you used two analogies one after the other. I always dislike them when the are structured like [______ like a _____] that sort of language is better suited to folklore or anecdote. Also I wouldn’t open with “ok” but this criticism may be due to lack of context.

>>16314982
thanks for replying. I used the repeated analogies to link to the next sequences.
blood in sink to the fight
tears in rain to tears of the woman

>>16315159
I like the first one, I would use a different device to switch perspective for the next one. Maybe inversion of the conflict.

The sound of the waves was almost covered by the motor's deafening noise. Almost, but not quite; the slosh of the black mass seemed to seep through the roar like rain through an umbrella. Makes sense, he thought, after all they're both water. His thoughts were soon interrupted by the shout of the boat's captain. He was called 'Captain' by the men even though his only job was steering the boat and nothing more. With a bigger boat he could have been called a 'Captain', but in this unfortumate hunk of plastic, metal and synthetic materials he was no more a captain than a man in a cave is a king in his castle.
"Cutting the funds again, those damed officials" one of the men said while showing a hole in the roof of the boat, a crack through which the rain poured in like from a faucet. Everytime the boat rocked from side to side in the waves, the water that had come from the skies returned that black mass below them.

He was killed in suspicious circumstances, ambushed in a courtyard several blocks from his home. The occasion of his death have remained unclear, and time has only further obscured its particulars. The historians have since made him out to have been one of this country’s great artists and now his sonnets regularly appear in freshman syllabi. Both sides of the current revolution claim him as one of their own while another camp, usually the anarchists, claim that his contempt for both sides of the political process indicate that he was among their ranks. No one can say what Walter Rudin’s politics truly were, or whether they figured at all in his work. One is pleased to find, despite whatever superimposed ideology, that his pieces are usually nonetheless syntactically sound and that they produce seemingly consistent results. In this way his poetry functions as unassuming equation, each seemingly non-political word a context-cropped-variable awaiting application. All his work was drowning in such patience, in the uncertainties that plagued his life. There were those who claimed he came from abroad when he was very young, from a country that spoke a latin language with an accent of which he was never quite able to rid himself—that he wrote, even in his mathematical percussion, with an abandon more characteristic of centuries past. That But I know the truth about Walter Rudin and his dreamy poetry, I know because I saw him once under streetlamp not so far from the financial district, and I saw the bundle of creased papers in his arms and I shuddered under the drunken weight of his eyes as they fell onto me. I remember the the chipped softness of his lips, and the way he ran his hands through my hair in the morning, bunching it in a fist like I was a handful of sand.

>>16315342
This is good!

>>16315373
thanks mate

>>16311366
>>16310448
thank you for the feedback anons, I'll go back and fix it up sometime

>>16310201
no flow big words just to have big words stop trying so hard

>>16314967
Ok, anon. You clearly have a passion for poetry but are you completely self taught in poetics? I'm this isn't an attack, but i suspect that you've never had someone else read your poems aloud and never considered how they would actually do that with every single line enjambed.
Ok, maybe you think that the default approach to poetry reading is to pause at the end of every line but that simply is not the case. Punctuation exists for a reason, and im not telling you this to be pedantic, if you aren't punctuating properly you are denying yourself the use of enjambment at all, and enjambment is an important tool for controlling the pace of a poem and emphasising different lines.

I know you have a working comma key and period key, please use them. It will improve your poetry by making your intended pace clearer to your readers and allow you to enjamb for effect. You have a toolbox with a tool missing.

>>16310347
not who you responded to, but here goes

"I like the foil, Harry," Joe said, leaning forward onto the table, his hands folded together. Two business cards sat in front of him. "Where'd you get these done?"
Harry's hand reached upward towards his own neck, rubbing his Adam's apple. "T-there's a print shop nearby the office I rent,"
His hand reached down again, towards the arm of his chair. The knuckles of his left hand turned white as his grip tightened around the leather cushioning. Joe glanced at the door, then to Rocky, then back to Harry. Joe's eyes, which were an intense shade of blue, stared into Harry. Rocky rose to his feet and walked over to where Joe sat. Joe did not look away.
"Foil looks pricey," Rocky mumbled, leaning over to look down at the cards. "Certainly costs more than ours there, Joe."
Rocky's eyes moved upwards to meet Harry's. The lone ceiling light shone onto his bald scalp, but Rocky's face loomed behind a veil of shadow. Joe glanced again at the door before quickly returning his glare to Harry.
"They're real eye-catching," Joe said, matching his voice to Rocky's. He glanced again at the door.
"They're not much," Harry said, his voice cracking. "Just a novelty, really."
A bead of sweat fell from his brow. His grip around the arm of his chair tightened. His other arm still hung on to the handle of a briefcase. Joe's jaw tightened as he again glanced towards the door. Rocky's eyes moved to the clock behind Harry. Just a few more seconds until seven.
"I'll have to get the name of the shop from you then," Joe said. His breathing intensified. Any moment now. Harry's left leg shook rapidly, but he was careful to not let his heel tap against the wood floor.
"And the name of the owner," Rocky added. His posture straightened. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
With a blinding flash, the door to the room swung open.

A soft strum on a guitar of sorts, gently, tingly. Re-imagining passages of the past, thrusting forth and this is all. The fain in a catharsis of realization. What will tomorrow bring? I’m so tired now, it’s all so burdensome. I sit in this empty house and type. I sit here and say nothing, I barely exist.... But then, that’d be lying. I’m the center of my own universe, and there’s no solutions… Not even dying. Rest, and nothing more, sleep well my dears it’s all a dream.

>>16309918
faggot janny cumdumpster gamer aryan nordic white race hitler communism marx evola acceleration coronavirus nigger jew rape femoid incel autism kikes chink wojak pepe anime

Her first three months working for him were ordinary. Whatever compliments she did receive from him were innocent. She looked nice that day, he thought what she did to her hair was smart, and he appreciated the impact that the attention she gave her appearance had on clients. Multiple customers had praised her exceptional standards of service and courtesy. The ever conscientious Mr. Bog even considered ordering a personalized "Employee of the Month" plaque for her desk, as he had for the retired Mrs. Mayweather, but thought Sally's millennial sensibility would find it coy.

His behavior grew questionable after she made a mistake while helping rearrange his office. Clearing picture frames from a bookshelf, she spilled a bottle of blue pills onto his floor. Her shocked face, mouth ajar, locked with his grimace, both speechless. He hurried over to clean the mess she had made and told her to carry on, stashing the discovery deep in his pocket. Did he notice her frequent glances at the protrusion in his trousers, quite far to the side from where it should have been? Was that medication in his pants, or was he happy to see her?

>>16311180
>His blood seeped into the cracks of square tiles and filled the lines, spreading in different directions in perfect geometry.
Orgasmic prose, anon, great job.

>>16317934
Thanks anon, I appreciate the feedback, it motivates me to keep writing.

ALSO
>>16311544
was anyone here interested in doing this?

bump

“John? What are you looking at?” Rachel leaned on the doorframe with her arms crossed, lips pushed out in a petulant scowl.

“Checking on your birthday present, darling,” John said and quickly closed the laptop screen.

Rachel’s scowl softened. John was a good man at heart. But like all white men, he had an intrinsic desire to oppress.

It all made so much sense after Rachel’s newlywed training program. John can’t help himself; it’s just the way he was born. Thankfully, Rachel has been able to keep him in line—assisted by human rights police, of course.

“You’re not allowed to use the computer unsupervised,” she said, placing her hand on his wrist. “Will I have to call the Commissioner again?”

John smiled. “Oh, please don’t. I only wanted to check the delivery. It’s set to arrive this afternoon, while you’re at the spa.”

Rachel’s eyes lit up. “Well… I guess that’s OK. Will you tell me what it is?”

“That would spoil it,” John chided. He got up from his chair and kissed his wife’s forehead. “Only one more day.”

“I don’t want to turn forty,” Rachel pouted, arms still crossed. It was John’s fieldwork day. He smelled of sweat and dirt. A good scent. She leaned against him. “Do you promise you weren’t on that Nazi website?”

“Where’s this coming from? That was years ago.” John scratched absently at the brand on his forearm.

>>16309923
Fun writing anon! I'd read your book :)

>>16322021
Thank you. Watch out for stoner Asterix and Obelix in the coming years, that'll be the one