/lit/ - Literature

what follows are incomplete collections of the previous episodes of nano/lit/, for those that missed them. I'm only posting a nano/lit/ thread once a week now, usually on friday night. So they are easy to miss.

>>16446713
Do you have a text version of this, instead of a giant image

>>16446907
Yes, but how would I transfer it to you. Do you use IRC? If not I can teach you.

>>16446950
No, I mean a pastebin

>>16446994
I fucking hate pastebin. And they hate us. I'd rather just DCC you the .txt files on IRC, it takes 3 seconds and you don't even have to make any kind of faggot account. If you want the files you're gonna have to come to me on the undernet because I sure as fuck ain't pastebinning shit. I'll give you all of them. I'm already on a channel called #bookz so all you have to do is come here and post 'nano/lit/' to identify yourself then I will send you the files. just download and install an IRC client for your OS then select 'undernet' network/server then go to #bookz then type nano/lit/. Easy as fuck. This way i teach someone something new as well as transfer files. #bookz is a major online book repository and they have some books that are not on libgen or the PTB.

>>16446994
fuck it. I thought that I had to make an account to do a pastebin, that's why I insisted on IRC. Turns out I don't. here you go

https://pastebin.com/h7f32SCZ

Do you want the rest of them?

>>16447051

I'm not that anon, but it would be nice. These images have blurry text at parts and that's just unacceptable.

>>16447068
>These images have blurry text at parts and that's just unacceptable.

the blur is a result of using the transform function within GIMP. It doesn't bother me but maybe I'm weird. Now that I know that anon doesn't like it, I will make sure I don't do that again. I don't actually like the image-issues anyway. They are a lot of work and their limitations frustrate me. I only started making them as a solution to the problem of transmitting our previous work on this cycle to anons that haven't seen it yet, as everyone refuses to use IRC and I'm not going to make and distribute tiny ebooks. Maybe pastebin is a good solution, even though I hate them for their discrimination against us for what old anonymous got up to using pastebin. Try to make a username with 'anon' in it anywhere. I dare you. We aren't the same anonymous, retards. Those faggots wore masks and were fucking whiteknights. We are more like
>mfw i have no face
and nihilistic

>>16447097
>we aren't the same
>discriminating against me

Pick one, anon. If you don't consider yourself part of that group, why hold a grudge? Seems pointless desu

IRC is very old fashioned even though I respect it. The zoomers almost exclusively use discord I believe, though that may not jive with your personal ethics either.

>>16447117
>If you don't consider yourself part of that group, why hold a grudge?

I am not one of Anonymous with a capital A but rather anon. We were here before those faggots reared their ugly heads and are here long after they are gone. We share a single name but are actually 2 or more cultures. It is the fact that we share the same name that confuses many people. pastebin is pretty gay anyway. I'm so fucking sick of the clearnet with their faggot accounts and tracking everything you fucking do. This is why I try to stick to IRC and bring more users down there. We don't need to put up with this shit. Here's the pastebin for nano/lit/-2 THE WHITEKNIGHT

https://pastebin.com/DNS8s5q6

>>16447141
Take your meds

>>16446681
What did the dragon section look like?

>>16447148
Whatever, newfag. I'm trying to explain why I don't like pastebin and you think I'm schizoposting? Get real, faggot. Go back to discord or whatever. I'm fucking sick of phonefags like you that can't even post more than 5 words

>>16447152
I was getting around to that. I spent a couple hours making the images today but I might just switch to pastebin because it's easier and I can include all the contributions, uncut. Give me a couple minutes to get the pastebin together.

My opinion on the content in the Dragon issue was that we could do better, but I always think that. I kept the thread alive for like 3 days and got 4200 words of OC. nu-/lit/ does not like me I don't think. There used to be more writers on this board. I wonder where they went

>>16447152
here's the pastebin and the second image-issue

nano/lit-5 THE DRAGON https://pastebin.com/DtvUxye2

The Cita Mage sat touching the thrumming new Ward he had just made.
Uksor came in the room.
“Leuker! What have you done? Is this your latest work? It’s amazing! It’s so.....big and strange! And it glows so ominously! What is it? You HAVE to tell your wife!”
The Cita Mage stood up and the Ward turned a deeper red.
“This is my greatest work yet, Uksor. I constructed it using proto-light/vibration Bhaotic magik. This form of magik is of my own design, the result of a lifetime of focus on the Art. I think I will call it the Acausal Form. It is inspired by the process of creation of the universe itself, which is why it works so well. It will change everything once I found my School for the Cita Arts and train neofites in its implementation. It requires the Acausal Luminant and an iron will. The Creator must vibrate the thoughtform using Bhaos-Light - the manifested light magik from within, then energize the repeating/vibrating design thoughtform using the Luminant. This virtualizes the moment of creation which was when the chaotic, acausal lightlike energy flash entered this empty universe and entangled itself via a certain number of opposing triangular lines of force, knotting its energy into particles of matter. Our consciousness was born then, this is how Bhaotic Magic works, which is the sudden manifestation of light or the ability to see or transport yourself anywhere light of the desired type is found. This is also why light seems to be a particle and a wave simultaneously: it actually takes whatever form our consciousness wills it into. The Chitta : the kernel or particle of our consciousness is the cousin of the photon. They both derive from the same protoenergy.”
Uksor looked confused.
“I knew you would be a great Mage one day, that’s why I married you despite all my friends saying I could do better. But now that you told me how you made that thing, can you tell me what it does?”
A kaliedescopic light comes from Leuker the Cita Mage’s hand and the Ward lifts from the ground and slowly spins, taking up most of the room. It looks to be made from some kind of crystal and seems to be several alien forms intertwined- they are six-legged, with a strange tube for mouths and disturbing asymmetrical eyes.
“This is a Ward that will protect this entire plain of existence from these creatures, known as MEF. I gained knowledge of them using the Bhaotic Method. Far in the future, will they threaten this Realm. But so long as this Ward exists, they will not be able to gain hold or enter here. Its color indicates the status of the MEF: red means they are moving away. Blue means they are coming closer. And violet means they are here. They are a super ancient race of Hunger Gods, Uksor. They will devour all Life in the Middling Realm if they are allowed to enter. But I stopped them.”

The Neks Mage clicks in anger from the shadows where he watches from..........

If you are curious where I get the strange words I use, I simply go here

https://indo-european.info/dictionary-translator/

The words are proto-indo-european. Ancient Ayrrian.

Bhaos = a type of light, I don't know exactly
Cita = life
Uksor = wife
neks = death
leuks = another type of light. They had many words for light in proto indo european

It's interesting to me that cita is their word for life. I study Yoga philosophy and in the Aphorisms of Patanjali, chitta is the sanskrit word for consciousness-principle. Life is Mind. The older I get the more I believe this to be true.

here's the pastebin and image-issue for nano/lit/-3 THE TROLL -

>https://pastebin.com/xn3vkvaJ

That was a good one.

Not too many biters this time. I fucked it up in the OP, didn't I. I always fuck shit up by talking to goddam much.

nano/lit/-4 THE NEWGODS - https://pastebin.com/dfeYGnj1

magic is. spontaneous creation
magic is. restructuring your beliefs
magic is. thinking outside the box
magic is. that hunch that turned out to be right
magic is. chaos and freedom and the realization that the two are connected
magic is. inspiration, fleeting
magic is. building the future from a single thought
magic is. symbolic and compressed
magic is. the painting that creates the illusion that takes your breath away
magic is. the music that suddenly transports you into a new state of mind
magic is. the lasers that can cool matter
magic is. electromagnetic communication
magic is. the mastery of electrons to do useful things
magic is. the realization that all that you are is a result of what you have thought
magic is. knowing that even this result can change

This is terrible. It's not even Fanfiction.net tier good. At least that Lit Quarterly faggot tries to make something of worth

>>16449856
>This is terrible.
o rly? Interesting. What episodes have you read? Just this thread? What kind of writing do you like [I want authors]. I mean, it may not be great literature but it's unique and it's ours. Show us some of your writing. Don't even have to write about a magician, but that would be cool. I want to see what you think is good. And don't run away either. Either show me what you think is good or fuck off.

>>16449949
Literally anything besides your crap is good. Pick any random thread on /lit/ besides this one

maybe he doesn't like my cartoonish style. That's fine. i'm not trying to make anyone happy. I just do this because it amuses me. Making stuff is fun. And you have to admit that accusing us of fanfic tier quality isn't fair. We are explicitly trying to make new work, and have even developed a weird kind of half-story half-poem different from anything else I have ever heard of or read, different even from the surrealists. And then when I challenge detractors, they run away like the cowardly faggots they are. I bet they think that big boring behemoths like Dostoyevsky is really cool. Well idgaf about that boring russian shit. I refuse to enter their world. Perhaps he fails to realize that experimenting is what is being done here. Of course some experiments fail.

>>16450055
>Literally anything besides your crap is good.

oh wow. I feel like someone is a little triggered. Good. I fucking hate you, you fucking faggot. I hate the world you live in. I hate the literally anything other than my shit. I hate my own work. But this hate is not stopping me. It fuels me. I will create new eschelons of hatred and hated work. I will become the first great writer of the hated. For I so hated the world that I forced it to swallow a crimson pill filled with portraits of (You). You who possess such a face that not even your mother could possibly love. I wish you would write more than a few words. It's so hard to get a glimpse into your mind, if you have a mind as opposed to a memetic repeating automaton soup. You think you can make me give up? I'm a force of nature, bitch. Your dismay and malcontent fuel me, but these fuels are nothing compared to my hatred for you and your kind. The sniveling coward hater, incapable of the act of creation. Incapable of communication beyond the trite and mindless memepost. You are the cancer that killed many boards on 4chins. The perennial cancer. I can even anticipate your next post. It will tell me to take meds, or maybe accuse me of being an incel. I you want to troll me, try harder. Back in my day trolling meant something. But you come in here and try to tell me that literally anything is better than what we are doing here? Ha. Fucking steener.

tick tick tick
the sound of typing on a keyboard was his most familiar sound
the memories would come back in waves
tick tick
the ideas would flow like the tide
tick
the last one is back- we are complete
lines of code covered his multiple vertical monitors
few knew the truth about the seemingly useless lines of C
the machine code that made memory dance for some unknown reason
a metaprogram set to execute beyond the cyberworld
tick tick tick tick
there were 32 others like him
working within linux, android, bsd, windows
developing, silently
they didn’t need to communicate using computers
they were far more kiatically connected than that
they collectively made decisions and directed their efforts
like a school of fish or flock of birds
tick tick tick
tap
not even they knew where they learned the art of cybermancy
or the use of computers and electronics to gather the Kia of people
together so that they could feast upon it
they were the kiatic consumers
the black dot
this new art came to them like swimming to a baby
they are the new cyber-druids designing a new world
evoking millions of kia bots born to bleed your soul
tick tick
and they are not a fucking joke

samefag
do you want the samefag or do you want the various voices of anon?
samefag
you get the samefag itt
samefag
SAMEfag
with your incessant sameposting, takin no chance on other anons
samefag, with your thread all planned
your faggot little castle in the sky, smiling through your samefaggotry
here you come
here you come samefag
you coom to break the combo, you come to rape my faggot thread
you come to take my terribleposts into the street and shoot them down
come for ME anti-samefag, with my faggot cartoon stories of lights already up
first in the thread
samefag
crucify me to the OP with the nine inch nails
from your well stocked .mp3 collection
samefag
SAMEFAG
OP, father of faggots, come and incinerate me
make another post
fucking samefag is the same

You guys wanna do a live edit collab thing ?

Come here
https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/u3tmuy6r7h3deks3uhjxm/the-magician.paper?dl=0&rlkey=uzsrk3qfoe7djfn6x5921lobe
https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/u3tmuy6r7h3deks3uhjxm/the-magician.paper?dl=0&rlkey=uzsrk3qfoe7djfn6x5921lobe

i started with a surrealist poem that mentions a magician by René Char


The unexplained disappearances

Unpredictable accidents

Misfortunes perhaps excessive

Catastrophes of all kinds

The cataclysms that drown and carbonize the

Suicide considered crime

The intractable degenerates

The ones that roll in the head a blacksmith's apron

The naive of the first magnitude

Those who put their mother's coffin on the bottom of a well

Unlearned brains

The brains of leather

Those who winter in the hospital and conserve the drunkenness of

Torn clothes

The mallow of the prisons

Nettle of prisons

The wet nurse fig tree

The incurable silencers

Those who channel the foam of the underworld

The poets excavators

Those who kill the orphans by playing the bugle

The magicians of the ear

There is a benign temperature around the sweaty embalmers of work.


do thou would i guess

>>16446681
>My opinion on the content in the Dragon issue was that we could do better
This was for THE DRAGON, which I could not attend. Could be passably magian here too, I suppose


>MYSTERY TEOTIHUACAN

>Tlaloc tilting at pinwheels
>Throwing darts at the Mayan Calendar
>2012 to 9/11 Möbius drip feed flower war
>Mandalas for The Great Wyrm's writhing
>Flesh farms in Deep Underground Military Bases

>Tread lightly if you go into that good night,
>Pray The Dragon does not hear of your trespasses
>Know that God cannot see all the way down,
>-- not while Dante's red drukpas
>Still haunt the galleries in Dis

>Awaiting Beatrix and Hekate to be in season

>>16447539
A highly numinous text

>>16450520
Another worthy offering for the Machine God

Antoine was sucking on his wand, feeling bored. He had just graduated from the magic university of Lindastana and he felt like he learned every spell there was, or at least every legal one. He knew how to summon balls of light, how to burn something, how to move things around, he even could make his own spells, that would effectively help him wake up, make his morning cup of tea and bring his phone to him and instantly open it to his favorite porn website with effectively a single charm. It was a long road, but it was worth it. However, he was getting bored. He knew everything, or at least so he thought. While the potential of magic was endless, it only had so many techniques and magic words and to a hard learner like he was. That's why Antoine started to go deeper than he originally expected he would get. He started to visit libraries in search of the books on dark magic, bt he couldn't find anything. People thought he was going mad, mad from the stress of the university and the exams, but that didn't stop him. Soon enough he came on some old cabin on the edge of Lindastana which could have been a library at one point but after probably decades of nobody even bothering to do basic reapers let alone any modernisation it could easily pass for an average logger's cabin. however, he knew about this library, since it had many different books that didn't exist anywhere else. If there was one place that was going to have knowledge on dark magic, and maybe even some other kinds of magic not known yet or simply not sought publicly, it's going to be here.

An old librarian greeted him, asking him what kind of books he wanted. After explaining why he was here, the librarian nodded. He obviously got many requests like that, and already started shuffling threw the shelves. Soon enough, Antoine was reading "Introduction to the dark magic" by Vulpes Aurelio, and he quickly read it. It made an impact on him. It talked about some things he didn't even think could be done! it was things like summoning energy, communicating with angels and demons, and even proving the existence of God. He started getting angry, not knowing why wasn't he taught any of this at one of the biggest magic universities in the world. As he continued on, he started to learn more darker spells, the ones that Ade dark magic equal evil. The ones that could curse entire cities and give people plagues and bad luck.

Atoine practiced some of the spells, just to confirm they worked, and by next day, the magic university of Lindastana was no more.

If someone had told me early in my training to become a member of the High Chaonate that there lies in hatred more power than in any other known Kiatic source, I would have laughed. Laughter is another great source of Kia, used often to give a work more power. More change. We who worship nothing more than our own autonomy. We, the Illuminates of Thanateros; the enlightened of the sex and death, are now the ultimate in occult power on Earth and the Chaonate is our network that pulls the strings of just about everything. How could such a sage and erudite group of supersorcerers miss something that contains 10 to the 10th power more power than any other human emotion? Is hatred dangerous? Or is it just feared by the elite occultists of today?

It was when I realized that the giant rats that call themselves humans enslave themselves that I began to learn to hate them. Once planted, the seed of hate can sleep for a time, and like most other rational magick-users I didn’t like the disturbing feeling of pure hate. It calls for extirpation, destruction, genocide. Hate is a destroyer, pure and bright, and it brings the flavor of burned metal into the mouth. It is not a binding force. Hatred is a separator, and I discovered this right away. My eyes would smoke over with ferrous metal fumes when I began my unexpected journey down the Path of Hate. I was the first, a pilgrim. My mundane name will never reach chaos magick fame; I am known as the Odjo. In an ancient and forgotten tongue, it means, surprisingly, ‘hate’. My path was to become the Path of the Odjo. And it was in this way I finally became completely free.

Follow not my footsteps, ye of simple desire. The Odjoic Path will take you to the Abyss, the Unavoidable Void, the Darkness that Devours. One could argue that the Path IS the Void. For Hatred with a capital H will cleanse your Kia with the Black Light and cut away the bramble of Karma. Hate will set you free, for a terrible price.

The first thing I learned on my embryonic Path of Hate was that there is no room for simply hating that which should be hated. Or rather, that order of hatred isn’t enough. No, you must learn to hate Everything and All if you are to become a disciple of Odjo, you must learn to hate the darkness and the light, you must hate this very universe [for a prison it is, and zero doubt] and all it’s structures and radiant energies, all of its brightening and undark denizens. You must hate the brilliant along with the hyper-black knight of the Void that waits at the end of every line of time. It is only once you begin to become a being of pure Hate, the Odjo, that the powers begin to come to you.

It is not love that created this universe, but rather bright and cold Hate! I’m running out of space, I’m about to become Liberated. I have power over the Void: I invoked it on humanity and they are all gone! All of them! The Tunnel of Odjo is taking somewhere else! Begone, Prison of the Demiurge!

>>16451291
hell yeah. I didn't know that you could do that, write for previous episodes. But I checked with my boss and he said it's perfectly fine. 'Whatever makes 'em write', he said. He's a very pragmatic man. This is good because I think I had some more dragonshit to write, terribly.

>>16451517
This one really got me thinking, AND THEN? And then and then and then? What else did poor bored Antoine change? What did he do without the University? Surely, such egregious and unwise fucking with the powers of Darkness will have unforeseen fates flung at Antoine the Neophyte. This gives me a new idea. If I could get a group of us together on some other platform, we could work on expanding the universes that appear in nano/lit/. That might be fun for further exercise. I know I would like to see what someone else would do with my writing that I do so terribly. Maybe we could make some kind of branching-form of writing. I'm just brainstorming here, feel free to call me terrible. What a rad pen name that would be, Brennus the Terrible. Brennus was the ultimate badass that sacked Rome around 390BC with his merry band of killers, and demanded a large amount of gold to make him go away. When the Romans complained that the scales were unfair, he threw his sword on the balance, simply stating: 'VAE VICTUS'. [woe to the vanquished] Fucking badass. Now that's how a real conqueror acts. I love the stories that history gives us. And history is a branching-form....I think I got it. It would be fun to begin with a single nanostory, then get 2 anons to come up with nanostories that continue or are in that same universe. Then get 3 anons to continue on each of the two newer nodes. I bet that we could come up with some real weird shit that way. A Fibonac, after Fibonacci, the number sequence.

There's a creek not too far from our home, and there's this old oak tree there. Something must've hurt it, since half of it is dead. The tree is sort of leaning into the water, so when you look at its reflection, you can hardly see the other, green side -- it just looks like a dead tree. My mom would always say not to climb the tree from that side, else a branch would break while I'm climbong it and I'd fall into the water, and I'd drown. I liked my mom, I loved her really, and I never would've climbed the tree from that side anyway, since it was scary to look back down and see nothing but the dead branches.

One morning, I woke up and heard my father talk with some other man. I couldn't recognize that other man's voice, but I guess he was a friend of my father. I know it's no good to listen in on adults speaking but I simply overheard, and not much, really. The man -- he was the one talking, and my father would day "uh huh" every so often -- he was talking about gold, and woods, and God a lot. Miss Bell told us that there used to be a lot of gold in that creek, maybe that was what the man was talking about. Then the man said something about a head, I couldn't quite make it out, but a head which he maybe found in the creek, and my father said "Jesus!". If my mom would've been there, she'd have given him a bad look, and I'd remember that. I was scared that God was looking down on me listening in, so I stopped after that.

I went to the creek that afternoon. I don't know why but I thought I should climb it from the dead side. Mom would never let me go back to the creek if I came back home wet, she'd know I tried climbing the tree from the wrong side, and she'd be really mad. I looked around and I held on to one of the bigger branches, and pressed up with my foot on the trunk, to start climbing. I was a good way up, but a branch broke when I tried to hold it. I closed my eyes at the cracking sound the branch made when it broke, and when I opened them up again I was on the ground. I was really wet and my head hurt really bad. I thought I must be bleeding. No one falls like that and gets up without bleeding, I thought. I opened my eyes but I didn't get up, I just laid there. There was a tooth stuck between a few rock pebbles, and the current was hitting against it and it would twirl in place there. I wasn't moving though, I guess I was pretending to be dead. I don't know how long I stayed there, trying not to blink and look really dead, staring at the tooth. When I did get up, I took the tooth, and I thought it must've been Jesus' tooth, the one he lost it when they brought him down from the cross. I took it and I held it tight in my hand so I could feel it and I didn't lose it when I was getting up. I put it in my pocket after that. I climbed the good side of the tree and, when I was sitting on one of the branches, I took out the tooth and I placed it in my mouth and started sucking on it with my tongue.

finally fixed the image from the op. man i fucked that up big time.

There's a creek not too far from our home, and there's this old oak tree there. Something must've hurt it, since half of it is dead. The tree is sort of leaning in to the water, so when you look at its reflection, you can hardly see the other, green side -- it just looks like a dead tree. My mom would always say not to climb the tree from that side, else a branch would break while I'm climbing it and I'd fall into the water, and I'd drown. I liked my mom, I loved her really, and I never would've climbed the tree from that side anyway, since it was scary to look back down and see nothing but the dead branches.

One morning, I woke up and heard my father talk with some other man. I couldn't recognize that other man's voice, but I guess he was a friend of my father. I know it's no good to listen in on adults speaking but I simply overheard, and not much, really. The man -- he was the one talking, and my father would say "uh huh" every so often -- he was talking about gold, and woods, and God a lot. Miss Bell told us that there used to be a lot of gold in that creek, maybe that was what the man was talking about. Then the man said something about a head, I couldn't quite make it out, but a head which he maybe found in the creek, and my father said "Jesus!". If my mom would've been there, she'd have given him a bad look, and I'd remember that. I was scared that God was looking down on me listening in, so I stopped after that.

I went to the creek that afternoon. I don't know why but I thought I should climb it from the dead side. Mom would never let me go back to the creek if I came back home wet, she'd know I tried climbing the tree from the wrong side, and she'd be really mad. I looked around and I held on to one of the bigger branches, and pressed up with my foot on the trunk, to start climbing. I was a good way up, but a branch broke when I tried to hold it. I closed my eyes at the cracking sound the branch made when it broke, and when I opened them up again I was on the ground. I was really wet and my head hurt really bad. I thought I must be bleeding. No one falls like that and gets up without bleeding, I thought. I opened my eyes but I didn't get up, I just laid there. There was a tooth stuck between a few rock pebbles, and the water was hitting against it and it twirled in place. I wasn't moving though, I guess I was pretending to be dead. I don't know how long I stayed there, trying not to blink and look really dead, staring at the tooth. When I did get up, I took the tooth, and I thought it must've been Jesus' tooth, the one he lost when they brought him down from the cross. I took it and I held it tight in my hand so I could feel it and I didn't lose it when I was getting up. I put it in my pocket after that. I climbed the good side of the tree and, when I was sitting on one of the branches, I took out the tooth and I put it in my mouth and started sucking on it with my tongue.

>>16452582
Instantly teleports me back to my own childhood. You are a magician. Really skilled writing from the perspective of a child. Maybe the story is a hyper-sigil? If not I like it anyway.

2400 words so far. Thanks to all the contributors. I was worried this one wouldn't get anything at all. And its an interesting subject to me.

The hive of flies gray goo anti-color filled the shitty studio apartment overlooking the Subductance Zone. An ancient radio wave TV, set to pure static, wove black and white fluttering forms in the mind of Merr and the greasy gray light danced on his face and in his bloodshot eyes, within the mutated layers of his ab-normie subtle bodies. The electronic chaos-snow was that which enabled Merr to commune with his current non-human crowd of amalevolent astral beings. At least he hoped they were amalevolent. They didn’t want to let him go. One of them, the most aggressive, did some crack-dancing with his 13.5 appendages on the screen. There was a flash from the window overlooking the Zone. Another one bites the dust, Merr thought. What is that, the 13th one today? He couldn’t be sure. 13 and a half, the berostriper seemed to say as he spun around on the screen.

A static knock at his door. Hide the stimulants. Prepare for the worst. Open the door. Carefully.

It was his dealer, Gol.

“I need you check this shit out man. This is not fucking normal. Fucking Ki-Ki disappeared into the Zone and I’m freaking out because it was that bitch Tay that fucking pushed her in! Man, I really liked that broad!”

“So what the fuck you want me to do, Gol? Go in after her? You know that nothing comes back from the Zone. I thought I saw a fucking quasar in there yesterday. That shit is definitely like some other universe.”

“Can’t you like do some kind of ass-trail shit and track her down? See if she dead or what? I got you on more methly-hex. Got a vial with your name on it right here.”

The vial of clear crystals Gol held up seemed vibrate and get larger in the eyes of Merr. He swiped it up with the quickness and ran hunched over to his station in front of the ancient static-casting dream-machine, spilling some crystals out and snorting them in a single succinct movement. The berostriper trapped there crack-dancing on the screen seemed to get more excited.

“Do you have something of Ki-Ki’s? Like something she wrote, preferably.” Merr asked Gol without turning around.

“Yeah, I got this piece of paper she wrote her number on.”

“Give it to me.” Gol gave the party flier to Merr.

Back in the static-snow world of shifting forms, Merr tried to track down Ki-Ki. After scanning the various astral levels, he suddenly found her, to his surprise, dancing with a glimron. What is this, dance-day?

“Ki-Ki dead bro. Never seen a living bitch do the Perkilator with a glimron before. Whatever happens to those that get thrown into the Subductance Zones, it must be fatal. I imagine it must be hard to live without, like, any air. Seeing as that shit looks just like space did several billion years ago.”

A billion Teegardens far, Teegarden's Star, shone the answer into Teegarden's telescope transcriptor. Teegarden, royal wizard of Castle Chillion, was honered with the star's current denotation after ridding one of the king's daughters of hookworm. But, as it stood, things weren't good. Teegarden had had it. So he asked the star,
"Can you make it end?! Can't it be made to end now!?"
And the star replied
"I could come over. Some of me could come over"
And he said
"Yes! Come over! Burn down Chillion! Burn down Switzerland!"
And the star said
"But I have to be attracted, it has to be sexy"
So he set out for sexy. He set out for a ridicilous concetrated amount of it.
A scream was heard coming from deep within the royal bathouse complex. The daughters covered themselves in haste as every guard and son barged in to invastigate. Every door was locked behind them. The pools were filled with aphrodisiac. The rooms were filled with steam. It was hot then hotter and it went on for hours and it got so hot that Chillion burned down and Switzerland burned down and the rest was toast.

I tried it again. Sigils I carved into treetrunks around my house hummed with an amber glow. A loud cracking noise shot through the forest. I thought it had worked, at last. The bounty of my study and toil drawn near!
It hadn’t.

The forest returned to silence; its glow dimmed. I stumbled into my chair, distraught. It had begun to rain again, and I stared out at the grey misty impalpable world looking for answers. I sat alone, in a house of my own making, at the edge of a dead world, forlorn and forgotten by the gods, submerged in silence, destitute and damned.

I remain the last human alive on earth, rejected by whatever being whisked the rest of you away.

Tomorrow, I’ll try again to bring you back.

>>16453400
check 'em.

>Now That's What I Call Writing v2020

I really like this kind of stuff. Fuck anyone that doesn't like it. They can go be boring somewhere else. It's new, and it challenges orthodox form. What else should be writing about? Our boring faggot lives irl? That would be a real page turner. But thanks for writing. I enjoyed that.

>>16453430
Nice and nano. I think that was effective. Sometimes I feel that way, that all my old friends are gone, like they were taken away. Nice to see that a story that can induce wonder only needs 131 words.

holy shit, after a moderate effort I managed to get a pirated version of adobe InDesign to run on Debian using playonlinux. That was an adventure. It wasn't easy but I finally got a windows program I wanted to use to work on linux. amazing. I'm not sure if I am going to prefer InDesign over Sigil but I wanted to try it out because I couldn't get any .epub generated by Sigil to work in my nook. Sorry for the blogpost but its relevant to the project. And it's good to win sometimes

Black robes bent and swirled amid the chill and fogging air,
And the sky above was a foreboding, iron gray,
As the tower rose, a pinnacle of onyx black
And upon its highest heights there rose its sharpened peaks.

On the summit of the tower, pealing to the skies,
Stood the bending man who stooped a moment now to gaze,
Downward, down below, upon the forest that was stretched
Outward, edging outward, to the horizon's far reach.

And the wizard, raising his pale hands, with fingers long
Stretched out his pale fingertips and gazed into the sky
And from his open fingers and hands there gleamed and flared
Sparks of an electric red, a red both cold and cruel.

All across the black forest that to horizon's edge
Stretched, there likewise rose into the air the cold, cruel red,
Hellish, neon red, and shone demonic in the dark
Of the wintry sky, and the clouds reflected its light.

Then amid the air and in the forest there arose
Something that was opening the hidden doors of space
Crawling, oozing outward from the cracks between the worlds,
Something that itself reflected hellish, neon red.

And the wizard smiled as his summoning was blessed
With the answer of the entity that he had sought.
The crack in the edges of the universe grew wide
And a red eye, empty, vast, peered out upon the world.

And a red eye, empty, vast, beheld what it would eat.

>>16454289
pretty rad. Super visual and well crafted. I like the form of the poem-story, easy on the eyes. A highly developed style and high quality craftsmanship. I really appreciate this sort of thing.

Boisterous shouts rang through the crowded pub. In a corner, far from all the jubilation, sat a withered old man. He had wrinkled skin and tired eyes, his wispy beard as grey as a thundercloud. He extended his hand, causing wisps of fire to dance between his fingertips, before snuffing them out with a fist. He felt a distant call, a nostalgic voice of a bygone time. His life, spent in service of lofty ideals, had left him with nothing but the same powers he came into the world gifted. With a resigned sigh, he left a few coins on the table and slipped out the door, the pub's cheerful bustle fading behind him.

>>16451998
Discord Maybe?

>>16454362
I really don't like discord but I would capitulate to its use in this case. I kind of forgot about that idea for fiction composed by a group or collective, I'm pretty stoked on the idea now. It would be so weird, like having a writing band. And instead of working together to create a monolithic piece, we would be creating decentralized, multi-verse versions of our own work. I think that the fibo or fibonac form could be really fun to fuck with and see where it goes. With only 5 active writers in the group we could easily generate story-structures to the 5th or 8th dimension in the sequence, i.e., 1,2,3,5,8 and how I visualize this is in pic related. It would be literally like designing multiple dimensions into every work. It would really only work using a group of different writers tho. I'm going to make a channel on Rizon if anyone is interested, to stay in touch for nano/lit/ and maybe the newer fiboform project. Rizon is an IRC network so all you have to do is install a client for your operating system and it's easy as hell after that.

>>16454362
I really don't like discord but I would capitulate to its use in this case. I kind of forgot about that idea for fiction composed by a group or collective, I'm pretty stoked on the idea now. It would be so weird, like having a writing band. And instead of working together to create a monolithic piece, we would be creating decentralized, multi-verse versions of our own work. I think that the fibo or fibonac form could be really fun to fuck with and see where it goes. With only 5 active writers in the group we could easily generate story-structures to the 5th or 8th dimension in the sequence, i.e., 1,2,3,5,8 and how I visualize this is in pic related. It would be literally like designing multiple dimensions into every work. It would really only work using a group of different writers tho. I'm going to make a channel on Rizon if anyone is interested, to stay in touch for nano/lit/ and maybe the newer fiboform project. Rizon is an IRC network so all you have to do is install a client for your operating system and it's easy as hell after that.

In the days of my youth, there was no incantation past my ability, no cantrip I couldn't incarnate, to wrest out of the hands of the latent undercurrent running throughout the world of phenomena, and bring it into being. My limits were the limits of magic itself. Once, I might have created a manner of a personal space, where my mind is indistinguishable from a law, to which all manners of existence would capitulate.

I might have stayed there. A willow I'd planted upon a knoll, my cottage a short walk away, maybe a league or two; short enough as to avoid undue strain, long enough to give the journey value. Nothing of value comes easily, not at first anyway. Beneath the grassy willow, its bark ever at the point of transition, mossed and pungence, I should have stayed. I could have stayed. In that place where time had no meaning, I grew to miss the company of men. Funny, that -- never had I considered myself the type. After a time, the gentle sunlight had become harsher, and no amount of adjustments minor or otherwise could tune the orb to just the right luminescence, just the right visual timbre, to affect that particular, stark sunshine which floats through the cooling air and sings the last vestiges of summer. I'd forgotten it. When your mind expands outwards its solipsism and grows encompassed by itself, the freedom to create becomes inevitably a burden. The limits of the place become your ability to envision them, this ability which lies beyond even magic.
I'd tired of this place, old fool I am. I'd wanted to leave, and I did. I'd come back to the brutality of an uncurated slice humanity. I'd wanted, finally, having lived my natural lifespan manifold over and more, to speak with my fellow men. I'd wanted to sit amongst them quietly, to drink in the minutiae of their daily lives, and to pass my days free of the relentless pursuit of perfection endemic to one's own private dimension.

Yes, I'd had power once, real power, of the kind most men could only dream of. First, they'd taken my hands. Gagged and restrained, the iron had bitten through my bone like an heifer chewing cud, requiring a second, a third, a fourth cut, succeeding only by virtue of its weight and the sweat glistening upon the constable's forehead. The scold's bridle'd wedged open my mouth, sangre threatening to drown me, my tongue tossed aside, and then they'd left me. They might as well've gelded me.

On the street I sit. Alms! I want to cry. I might have, were I able. Passersby pay no heed to vagrants, however destitute, however thin the threads of their lives fray as they near the end. I lay back on the ground, an arm reaching with a phantom hand up towards the endless blue, the dirty hem of my robe hiking itself downwards past an emaciated wrist. The breeze is cool today, the sun's wan gaze pasteled autumnal across the scattering clouds. Summer is ending. It's perfect, I mouth. I've found it. Something approaching gratitude forms faintly before I recede.

>>16454353
A rather sad little story, but it brings us up to 3500 words, which makes me happy. Thanks.

>>16454602
>Nothing of value comes easily, not at first anyway.

Based in reality, and wizardpilled. But I have to say that this is the best itt. I like your erudite language and detailed descriptions. Very high quality. I'd like to see some hater call that terrible. The detail I wonder about is, does the magic-principle live in the hands? It must, in your story, because how else could such a great magus capable of incarnating anything, lose his power with his hands? It's mysterious and I like it a lot. I wonder what he did to lose his hands. It reminds me that life is indeed a downward spiral into disability, dissolution, decay. And even though that is a saddening thought, there is beauty there in the autumn lightening wind. I wonder if the symbol of the autumn wind means freedom and death, objectively somehow. In one of my current works, I call the zaarskrit cycle for now, the autumn wind has its own device in the language/script I am developing, pic related. It is an idiographic script, but it contains particles which combine with syntax to create allusions to this vast [in the story] mythos, and in that way create meaning for each device. I'll stop there, I only mention it because you wrote about the autumn wind. It's an important device/myth/symbol in some of my other work.

I found the #/lit/ channel on Rizon and its dead as a door to the river styx. The last activity from the channel op was last april. We could use that channel if we wanted to. I prefer not being bound to a single nick as channel owners tend to be. Rizon is a good IRC network, they obfuscate your IP so you don't need a bouncer. All you need is an IRC client to access it. Select Rizon as your network/server and #/lit/ as your channel if you want to talk about books or maybe collaborate on the fiboform idea. I don't think I'll be making any threads about that one because I want to try it out with a small group first. See what happens. I just had a thought that it might be fun to use hyperlinks in the fiboform which make the entire thing explorable, not quite like 'choose your own adventure' books but more like 'interactive' in some way. I'm not sure yet. I'd like feedback on the idea though and anyone interested in collaborating in the experiment is welcome.

The final wizard sat restrained in the dank holding room, dimly lit by a single artificial candle. I observed him through a pane of glass; my supreme confidence in the anti-magic resin that covered the room displayed through my grin. He had finally come to, and I savored his expression of primal fear and shock before it morphed to the silent dejection more befitting of his type. We both knew that he was the final piece left on the board, and now it was time to change the game.

Wizards had a tendency to become too powerful given enough time. And time was something they had in abundance, with the life extending magicks they reserved only for themselves. The high families had reached an understanding: powerful magicians with free volition were dangerous. The mass graves of former high families would attest to that. The age of artifice is coming, and control of the magical would be made mundane.

Now the final wizard was inspecting the artifical candle, the only object present in the austere cell. This was the best part, when the haughty fools would realize just how depreciated their skills had become. Our task has finally come to an end, and I begin to laugh as I recall my youth, when I aspired to join the ranks of wizards myself. Outside, I can hear the crowds growing ever more restless. I silently thank the high families for giving me this wonderful charge. My laughter increases in intensity as I leave the observation room and motion the guards to escort our last guest to the guillotine.

>>16455726
Very interesting take on the subject. Would not an anti-magic resin be of necessity magical in origin? Interesting prop. And the magic-user meets his end, not for heresy but for being a threat to the ptb. How contemporary in affect. Very well structured and put together. Plus you put us at 4300 words which is right on track to achieve 40,000 by the end of the cycle in just a couple weeks. I'm going to have to start working harder on learning how to build a fully functioning .epub that works in my nook. Leaning how to do that is one of the reasons I started this project. Thanks.

>>16455967
I may not be a very good writer, but the choice of 'resin' as opposed to substance or compound was deliberate. Presumably it's derived from a specific plant with special properties. Which mirrors the theme of perversion of the natural "magic" by the artificial "science". Very mythological-like if you ask me.

>>16456268
Yeah, I liked it. I wondered about the artificial candle thing. Don't ever worry about what other people think about your writing, you shouldn't do it for them. I try to express my thoughts rather than feeling when I give feedback to the contributors of nano/lit/ because I care about this project and want writers to feel like someone spent some time to analyze their work to some degree. I think this is better than saying 'i like it' or 'that sucks'. Who gives a fuck if anyone likes it, I want to know what it makes people think. I have a background in fine art so the critique has always been big for me, and in school and in galleries i just hate it when people say 'i like it' and nothing more. I especially like it when they say they don't like it and can tell me why, but that doesn't usually happen. Keep writing. You have a clear style and the creative use of props in the art of worldbuilding is under rated imo.